League of Legends: Aftermath
by mutiesquiddle
Summary: It has been five years since the Voidborn opened a portal to Runeterra via the ancient ruins of Icathia, destroying all government across Valoran. Only the once-Champions of the disbanded League of Legends can stop the terror of the Void King and his army of otherworldly monsters... beginning with one unlikely hero.
1. Prelude

"Wake up, old man."

Deep below the earth, in a decaying prison as old as the relics above, an elderly mage stirred within his cell. The stone floor was cracked and uneven, the result of earthquakes and the magical warping of the land. Stalactites hung from the high roof, drops of cloudy dew hanging tediously off the tips. He could feel the insecurity of the foundation around him; the underground caves were ready to collapse at seemingly any moment. But something very powerful was holding it all together, willing it to stay perfectly intact and giving no permission for it to crumble.

The old iron gates rattled again. "I said wake up," the voice hissed. It spoke his language, but was far from human; it was thick and throaty, and ran shivers down his spine with every word. With tired, pained eyes, he gazed up his jailer in fear. The terrifying insectoid creature would be taller than him, were he standing, and covered in a thick, shiny purple exoskeleton. Large, leathery wings grew from its back; bright green eyes shone from its disgusting face. Impatient, it rattled the gates once more by punching the gates with its long, scythe-like arms.

"Our King commands your audience," it hissed once more.

The old man shivered, his thin rags providing little shelter from the biting cold of the prison. But still, an unadulterated, completely unconditional rage burned within him, fuelling his spirit with intent.

"I will never cooperate," he rasped. His anger was unfounded, completely irrational; and yet it fueled him. He felt in his heart that he was facing injustice.

Who was he? Why was he there? What was happening?

The monster hissed impatiently. "Have it your way then," it growled.

Throwing back its head, a high-pitched vibrating sound echoed from its throat. After a few seconds of this, there was utter silence; then, a sound grew louder from down the hallway leading to the cell. It was a clicking, soft and sharp, mixed with a symphony of sharp tapping noises. The insect monster threw open the iron gate just in time as a horde of small, strange creatures came reeling around the corner.

The monsters flooded into the cell, and the old man let out in involuntary, wheezing shout. They too were insectoid, and walked on four sharp, thick legs, balancing on needle-like points. They seemingly had no eyes, their fronts only distinguished from their backs by their large pincers. One particular creature, the largest of them all, snapped at the old man, scuttling between his legs. It then reached its pincers beneath him and lifted him with unnatural strength, summoning another shout from the old man.

The other insects scuttled around him and held him up with their pincers as the jailer clicked with laughter. He felt his body lift entirely from the ground as the horde scuttled underneath him and carried him towards the gate. He screamed as well as he could, his throat dry and cracked from his long term of imprisonment, but he could not squirm away from their grasp. He watched as the gate passed behind him and was dragged down the hallway.

It was a treacherous, tedious climb to the surface, and up every broken stairway the old man was sure he'd be dropped. But the little creatures never released him from their grip, held tight in their strong pincers. Despite their size and the power the old man himself held, he had no chance of escaping; he was far too weak physically, even without the magical barriers they'd placed upon him, and there were too many. Instead he watched the cavernous ceiling grow closer and closer until he finally saw dim light around the corner.

Looming before him was a giant iron door, larger and sturdier than the one guarding his personal cell. It seemed to be rippling in the air before him; the old man knew it was heavily fortified with magic. From behind them a sharp fluttering sound exploded and the insect-like jailer leapt over the mob of tiny creatures, its vibrating wings propelling it forward. It landed before the gate and pushed it open as if it weighed nothing, though the old man knew it was far heavier than it seemed. The very properties of physics seemed distorted in this place… and nothing was as it seemed. He was rushed out from the cavern by the mob and onto the land.

The air aboveground was hot, but fresh and clear. He almost choked as he breathed in; after however long he'd been imprisoned underground it was extremely difficult on his throat. The night sky loomed above them; he'd lost track of time in captivity. He tilted his head backwards and saw that the prison had been built into the side of a mountain; around him were giant, archaic walls, creating a courtyard. On either side of the gate to the prison were two more creatures, grotesque and large in their own rights, clutching foreign weapons that he could not identify. Then, raising his head, he gazed forward to where he was being taken.

Across from the prison gates was a short stairway leading into what seemed to be an old relic, twice as high as the courtyard walls. It was ornately designed, but crumbling and deteriorated – like everything else around here. Beyond the building the old man could see spires and towers reaching up towards the dark night sky amongst the strange mountainous scenery, twinkling with stars and overcome with a bright full moon, illuminating the land.

_Icathia_, the old man thought to himself. _The lost city itself._

The mob of beasts scuttled him up the stairs and into the very dimly lit building. Small candles were alit in grates, only providing enough light to splash giant shadows of the creatures upon the walls. Deeper and deeper they went into the ruin, until at the very end it opened up into what looked like a much larger, better-lit room.

Indeed it was. The chamber was massive, completely circular with a high domed ceiling, painted with runes and murals of ancient stories. Larger grates hung on the walls, burning with a dark, sinister intent. The floor was all cracked and uneven marble, and the walls had large, spider web-like fissures in them, emphasized by the shadows from the grates. Arches to hallways leading to different areas of the relic palace loomed darkly.

At the far end was a large dais, decorated with the crumbled remains of what appeared to be a throne. Behind it, two large, torn curtains were drawn upon the wall, concealing something very fearsome. Even with his limited magic, he could sense something horrible was behind those curtains, but before he could take a closer look he was suddenly dropped in the center of the room.

The beasts scuttled away, and the fearsome jailer marched past him. The old man got to his knees and looked up at it in fear as it was analyzing the curtains, which had another two grotesque guards placed on either side. Something flickered in his mind; memories of a forest. Memories of a guardian, standing in the center of a stone path. Memories of war.

"Who are you?" he managed to whisper.

The creature looked down at him, his alien expression unreadable. "You remember me not, old man?" It analyzed him for a while before laughing softly and returning its gaze to the curtain. "Such a pity to see a great mind wasted. Change has not done you well."

Minutes passed in absolute silence, just two the guards, the jailer and the old man, all watching the curtain intently. As time passed, more and more memories flooded back to him. A tall tower… a dark room… magic, flowing through his veins like a river, filling him with absolute, total power. Control and strength; absolutely nothing like what he was now.

And then, as sudden as the memories were slow, a wave of empty, pure noise echoed through the room, so loud it knocked the old man over. He screamed as loudly as his condition permitted, hands clamped to his ears. The monsters were not affected. The note continued, low and strong, as the two guards beside the curtains pulled either one aside, filling the room with a mysterious light.

The old man looked up to see a large, round portal behind the curtain. Swirling purple and black masses moved within the space, splashing a sinister illumination throughout the chamber. The lights were mesmerizing, almost hypnotic; he could have stayed there for centuries, watching intently, until something poked through the portal.

It was a large, clawed foot, or so it looked. Next the leg poked through, a similar purple colour to the jailer, but much, much larger. Then it seemed to pull itself through easily, revealing an insect-like body covered equally in patches of sturdy exoskeleton and thin, membrane-like skin, showing every vessel and organ within. Lastly the head came through. It was almost as large as the entire torso, with dark patches of fur, or perhaps hair, growing from the cracks in the exoskeleton. A giant rune mask covered its face, obviously from their world as nothing from their dimension could be created such as that. In its giant clawed hand was a massive scepter, spiked and sharp, seemingly pulsating in its grip. At the tip was another rune, glowing a shadowy purple as it emerged from the portal. The monster was nothing the old man had ever seen, and he had an immediate instinct to vomit, though he couldn't drag his eyes away.

The rune on its face he clearly recognized as _justice_. The rune on his scepter was _judgement_.

The noise cut out once the creature, twice as large as either guard, was free from the mysterious void space. The curtains dropped behind him, covering the portal once more. It was nearly surreal, seeing such a being in this plane of existence; like a nightmare, or a terrible vision. Nearly too much to comprehend for the old man.

From behind the rune mask, the creature began to speak.

"So," the creature began. "We meet again."

Its voice was peculiarly human, but echoed as though it were the voice of a mountain. It confused the old man; nothing made very much sense. The magic in the room was a different kind than the one he could comprehend and once could control; the very laws of his world had all been broken by this monster's appearance.

It was clear the creature was waiting for a response.

"I am afraid I have never set eyes on you before," the old man spoke, his voice weak and his eyes wide.

The monster didn't move for a moment, seemingly sizing the old man up from behind the rune mask.

"Perhaps I've not been clear enough for your mortal mind to comprehend," the monstrous creature spoke. "My offer to you remains standing. But I warn you, the previous time you evaded me was your last. If you attempt to escape our forces again, we will not hesitate to eliminate you… and I suggest you don't test our honesty."

The old man's mouth hung open, his jaw wobbling like a fish's. "I – I'm sorry, but I have no knowledge of what you're speaking," he finally wheezed.

The room echoed with what sounded like a growl of sorts. "I have no time for your insolence," the monster snarled, its voice lowering and growing louder. As he spoke, the fires in the room seemed to dim, and the old man could swear he saw shadows moving on the wall, echoed from nowhere. Even the monster before him seemed to grow.

"May I interject, your majesty?"

The jailer stepped forward on its insectoid legs. The rune-embezzled monster turned its head towards the purple creature, removing the attention from the old man.

"The Chronokeeper is not known for his sanity," it spoke. "His perverted misuse of time magic has warped his mind. It's entirely possible he remembers nothing of us."

_Chronokeeper. _The word sparked a lit in his mind, like a candle in the darkness. Slowly the flame grew, illuminating the dark corners of his brain; he looked up at the creature, who turned its head to keep one eye on the prisoner, and suddenly it registered.

"Voidreaver," the old man whispered. "Kha'Zix… it's you."

Kha'Zix, the demented insectoid jailer, turned fully to the old man. "Perhaps Zilean's memory has finally returned to him," he said sarcastically. "Answer the Void King before we annihilate you, twisted mage."

And like a bolt of lightning, his mind was illuminated, brighter than the chamber, blinding him to the reality before him. He was Zilean, Chronokeeper and time mage, one of the many guardians of Runeterra… he had also been a Champion of the League of Legends, a protector of the continent of Valoran who fought for the peace of the land. He would represent city states in small, contained battles upon the Fields of Justice to determine what ideals and laws would be selected… Kha'Zix had been one too. He had been from the Void, a realm between the physical planes of existence… a terrible, warped place, or so he'd heard.

But try as he could, he did not know who the monster before him wearing the runes was. Kha'Zix had called him the Void King; the creatures who'd carried him from the prison and the guards of the portal must be from the Void as well. It all fit within his mind like pieces of a puzzle as he watched the situation around him… and a feeling of dread filled him. The portal behind the curtains was a portal to the Void, permanently opened. And the Void had invaded Runeterra.

A stone felt like it had dropped into his stomach. How much had he missed, flickering in and out of time periods, swept away by the uncontrollable passage of time? What had happened? Where was he?

"I still know not what you speak of," Zilean answered, looking up into the rune mask of the Void King. There was no doubt about it; the insectoid body and strange voice were all trademarks of the Voidborn. Zilean had only met very few, as he could count the number who'd managed to slip through the dimensional walls on one hand, but it shared the qualities most of them seemed to feature, though it was much, much larger.

The Void King returned its gaze to Kha'Zix. "You must have been mistaken, Kha'Zix. This old man is utterly useless to us."

"His power is undeniable," the Voidreaver insisted. "Perhaps his memory has been altered by our restraints."

Zilean looked at Kha'Zix again. The Voidborn looked even larger than it had been when they fought together in the League of Legends, but in the presence of the Void King even it looked small. If it was there, it must have joined the ranks of the Void King… a terrifying ally if the Void King's intent was dark.

He had to think, and think fast, if he was going to get out of there alive. The second the Void King and its allies believed he would not be of use to them he would surely be executed; this obviously wasn't the first time he'd been in their grips, either.

What he needed was time. Something his entire life had been centered around, but something he did not have the power to control.

"May I ask what has occurred since my memory last served me?" Zilean asked, his voice still hoarse. "I still remember my days in the Fields of Justice… but I am afraid I can recall nothing else. Perhaps I'd be more willing to accept this offer you have if I'm aware of the situation Valoran is in."

The Void King returned its gaze to the old man. Zilean pondered how the beastly entity could possibly see through the rune mask, but it was obvious that the Voidborn contained a power he couldn't comprehend. It was swimming all around him.

"Five sun cycles have passed," the Void King began, "since we Voidborn have infiltrated the thin portal from the Void to Runeterra. With the help from the Voidborn Champions of your so-called League, Valoran is now entirely in the hands of our forces."

Zilean wished he could be shocked, or terrified. But his mind was too advanced to not have seen this coming. What he was most frightened of was that five whole years had passed without his consciousness. Or perhaps time had been dragging him through the cycles, and he was merely near the beginning of the loop?

"We have yet to invade the eastern continents of North and South Zezanoba," the king continued. "But that will be unnecessary once we manage to drag the entirety of Runeterra into the Void, bringing us a step closer to our goal of intergalactic domination. Soon the universe will know the strength of the Voidborn… and of Nul'Golagria, the Void King," he added with a terrible snarl. Zilean thought he could see the rune mask upon its terrible face almost glow with mention of the name.

Zilean's mind was a complete blur. "And… the fates of Demacia… Noxus… Piltover?" he asked wearily, mentioning the capital city states of Valoran. However, he felt as though he already knew.

"All in ruin," the Void King snarled. "All government of Valoran has failed. The League of Legends, your pathetic mortal attempt at seeking justice, has fallen. The only state alive and well is Icathia, where you now reside… the capital of the Void's infiltration."

The Chronokeeper swallowed hard, his throat aching. He felt something tug at his stomach… fear? Or something greater? The knowledge of the fall of the League of Legends meant nothing good to him. If the League of Legends was destroyed, and the Summoners who controlled the Champions within the Fields were eradicated… Zilean would once more become a slave to the magic he'd spent so long trying to control. Even in his riddled state he could remember the anguish of being torn from time to time, walking through realities that no longer existed or would never exist. The Summoners of the League of Legends were the only thing that kept his mortal body grounded firmly in the presence, and with them gone…

"What do your kind want with a mortal such as me?" he asked weakly, looking away. He felt the ground beneath him; it seemed to ripple beneath his touch. Something was happening.

"We cannot hope to complete our mission of complete dominance without assistance," the Void King admitted. "Runeterra is a land firmly protected and grounded with magic… by far the most difficult realm to control we've experienced. There are certain… artefacts which we must locate in order to bring about complete assimilation of this land. And as very few have knowledge of where these artefacts are… you may be integral to our mission."

"I'm afraid I have no knowledge of any items that could be of use to you," the Chronokeeper said, holding his hands together. They seemed to pass through each other for a moment, as though he were a spectre, until they righted themselves before his eyes. He could feel the flow of time shifting around him… no doubt he would be victim to the forces of time within the next few minutes. It could be the exit he was longing for.

"Then you will help us in finding the Champions who may," the Void King suggested. "When we overthrew the Institute of War we only managed to capture five champions. The rest we assume are scattered across Valoran… one must know where to find the objects we seek. Thus far all have managed to evade our attempts at capturing them, but someone with powers such as yours could be of great use to us."

Zilean looked up at the Void King. All eyes were on him; Kha'Zix seemed suspicious. And he had every right to be.

"And if I refuse?" Zilean inquired, feeling a mysterious strength returning to him.

The Void King paused a moment. "Do not challenge us, Chronokeeper," it hissed. "You are perfectly expendable to us. If you refuse us, then you confirm yourself as an enemy of the Void, and we will not hesitate to have you executed."

Zilean shrugged, looking away. "Then I suppose you should have me executed. Never in my lifetime will I serve such a sinister purpose as yours; Runeterra is the most magical realm in the universe, and the likes of your kind could never hope to conquer it." Zilean locked his eyes on the rune mask; the mage's glowed a bright blue, streaming light across his face. "And as long as I live, never would I permit this world to succumb to the darkness of the Void."

The Void King looked almost shocked behind its mask. "Kha'Zix," it snapped. "Relieve this man of his duties. I believe his life has existed far beyond its due expiration already."

Kha'Zix lifted an insectoid leg and kicked Zilean over. The old man began laughing, rolling onto his back like a madman. The guards of the portal lifted their weapons, holding them at the ready, pointing to the Chronokeeper. Even Kha'Zix seemed frightened.

"I'll make this quick," the Voidreaver hissed. "For our history together, Chronokeeper."

Kha'Zix lifted his scythe-like arm above his head, preparing to sever the human's head from its shoulders. But as he locked eyes with the old time mage, he paused. The blue light had receded slightly, allowing him to look into the Chronokeeper's eyes.

"Goodbye, my friend," Zilean said quietly, a smile on his lips.

Enraged, the Voidreaver forced his arm down, bladed forearm ready to slice head from neck in one fell blow. But just moments before the edge made contact with Zilean's mortal skin, a mysterious golden light seemed to blind him; the last thing he saw of the Chronokeeper was the smile growing upon his old, wrinkled face.

And then he was gone. Kha'Zix's scythe arm collided with the marble floor, making a terrible clanking noise. In confusion and anger, the Voidreaver looked around the room, from the ground to the ceiling; when he could not find Zilean anywhere, he let out a cry of fury and anguish.

"Where did the old man go?!" the Void King shouted, his voice echoing around the chamber.

Kha'Zix turned in circles, alight with anger. "It seems time has favoured the old man once more," he hissed. "Zilean… has escaped, my King."

Heavy arms grabbed the Voidreaver's neck; choking, the Voidborn stumbled backwards, caught off guard. He was dragged around to face the Void King, restrained by the portal guards.

"I warned you last time," Nul'Golagria hissed, his voice quiet, but seething with anger. "I will not be made a fool of. If the Chronokeeper truly has escaped again, it will be your head that will replace his."

The Void King turned, moving a curtain aside to reveal the portal. He then looked over his shoulder, rune mask barely covering the shadows behind it. "Bring Kha'Zix back to the Void for punishment, and then alert the armies… Zilean will not escape again. Find the Chronokeeper."

Kha'Zix let out a screech of fear, anger and frustration as he was pushed and bullied by the guards, dragged towards the Void Portal behind the monarch of the Void.


	2. Home in the Hills

The Tempest Flats of Valoran were among the most unremarkable locations across the continent; forever in the shadow of the Great Barrier, a mountain range separating the North and South, dividing the city states and their territories from the ancient battlefields of Rune Wars long past. However, after the terrible invasion of the Voidborn five years previous, the Flats had become an underground meeting place for the survivors of the genocide, a place of refuge where the Void King and his armies never thought to look.

It was sundown when the Flats found a man, covered head to toe in a haggard dark blue cloak, winding through the gently rolling hills that grew in size as they approached the mountain range. He moved in a hurry; the cloak covered his feet, and from a distance is looked as though he were glided across the landscape. It was common knowledge that the Voidborn were weakest during the day and strongest at night, and all underground refuges would be locked as soon as the sun set.

He approached the site of a landslide where boulders had tumbled off the Great Barrier's terrible mountainsides and pierced the fields of grass; it looked like a lonely graveyard with its tall, sharp rocks slowly growing into the peaceful land beneath it. He looked up at a particularly large rock next to a big, flat hill and approached warily.

He circled the boulder, searching for some sign of entrance. Once he'd made a complete perimeter of the hill to no avail, he pounded his fist upon the heavy rock in frustration. He glanced at his gloved hand, curious of the density of the rock, and removed his fist; there was a strange rune symbol carved into the side. He hadn't seen runes in ages, but it was clearly to see what it read. "Home".

Warily, he placed his palm flat upon the stone, above the rune, and felt a strange warmth. This had to be the entrance. He waiting a few seconds, wondering what the next step was. There had to be a way to access the door.

He removed his hand and looked at the rune. Perhaps if he spoke the ancient language…? He replaced his hand, and from beneath his cloak, a terrible voice emerged. It echoed and rang, like a blade drawn slowly over a metal sheet, but quiet and calm. The words it spoke were of an archaic dialect, long dead…

"_Ka Ere Viol Kyeri_," he said carefully, enunciating each word.

The rune grew hot beneath his hand, nearly too hot to touch; but his hand remained, and before his eyes the stone began to shake, though the ground around it did not move. It seemed to glitch in and out of existence.

Then, suddenly, it was gone. The stone that stood before him disappeared, showing the hilly sunset landscape before him. The grass and hill that once held around it still maintained their perfectly molded appearance, as though the stone had just been plucked from existence, leaving everything as it had been before. The rock had been planted very deep in the ground, and now a wide crater of dirt and soil stood in its place; however, in the middle was an even deeper hole, much like a well, dark and shadowy. Carefully, the man stepped down into the crater.

As he did, the light faded around him and he was plunged into absolute darkness. He halted, only a step down into the crater, and pressed his hand into the air behind him; the boulder, it seemed, was reforming behind him. Some very powerful, deceptive magic was at play; the location had to be kept incredibly secret if they were to stay alive. Cautious and wary, completely blind in the blackness, he instead took a step further into the crater.

Opening or closing his eyes made no difference. He walked carefully, feeling around the ground for the well in the centre. As the ground depressed beneath him he crouched, feeling with his hands. The first few inches or so down were bare around the rim of the well, but beneath were several steel rungs, dug deep into the side of the well. It was a ladder, of sorts. With a grumble, he began to straighten up, but immediately hit his head.

The ceiling of the boulder had shrunk above him; he could hardly straighten up. This was very irritating magic. Carefully, he swung his legs in front of him, feeling around himself. The stone seemed to shrink every time he wasn't using up the space. When he felt his legs hanging over the well he slipped down carefully, pressing his feet up against the rungs. Then he lowered himself down until his head was completely within the well; then, he pressed up with his hands. The stone had grown over the entrance. How on earth did anyone get out…?

He climbed down the well one rung at a time, carefully and steadily. The darkness around him was getting disorienting; it became difficult to tell whether his eyes were closed or open. He climbed for minutes, though in the depth of the void around him it felt like hours. Finally, when his eyes were open – or so he believed – he thought he could distinguish something on the wall. As he climbed, it became clear that a light was shining beneath him, growing stronger and stronger. It was fiery, and flickered steadily, casting shadows across the nicks in the hard walls of the well.

Finally he felt his feet reach solid ground. The ground was smooth and gave nothing, but it appeared to be soil; some very powerful magic was at play, he thought once again. The light came from a lit torch fixed into the wall of the well; it glowed to reveal a thin, long hallway right across from the ladder. With intent, he began making his way down the hallway.

The air was hot and thick beneath the earth, but it hardly fazed him. However it did raise the question… how far beneath the surface were they? The only way this underground structure could possibly still be holding was by magic, and if he's heard correctly about this place, it was all attached by one mage. What would happen if the mage were to fall…?

Finally, the hallway ended at a thick metallic door. A guard wearing heavy armour stood there with a long, sharp spear. The warrior within the man analyzed the defense. The armour was heavy, but cheap; a few blows and it would shatter. The spear was a different story. It was powerful, and by the way it seemed to emit its own strange glow, it was clearly enchanted. It would be easy to defeat the guard and force his way into the door, but he would certainly be weakened.

"Halt," the guard said in a deep voice. The man in the cloak stopped a fair distance from the door. "Who are you and what is your business here?"

The man in the cloak thought carefully. "I am here," he began, his voice still metallic and echoing, "to see Lord Evander."

Even behind his helmet, the cloaked man could tell that the guard was caught off guard by his strange voice. "And your name?" the guard asked, attempting to recover.

"None of your concern," the man answered swiftly.

The guard twisted his hands around the grip of the spear. "I cannot permit you to enter without knowing your name," he said sturdily.

Beneath his long sleeves, the cloaked man held his hands in tight fists.

"I believe it would be in your best interest," he began, his voice echoing even deeper, "to allow me through."

He prepared himself for a fight as the guard lowered his staff, pointing it towards him. Certainly Evander could find another guard to replace him. But just as the cloaked man prepared himself to attack or defend, the door behind the guard swung open, knocking the guard forward.

Clumsily, the guard regained his balance, placing a hand on the wall. All tension was broken immediately, and as serious a person as he was, the cloaked man could hardly stifle a laugh. In the doorway stood a tall, thick man with a rough, curly brown beard, his thick hands pressed onto his hips in a serious manner. He wore a simple tunic and leggings, and some big fur pelt around his shoulders. He certainly didn't look the part, but he held an air of regality around him. Some mysterious force compelled the cloaked man to respect him.

"It's quite all right, Glam," Lord Evander said in his low, hearty voice. "We've been expecting this visitor. Come through, sir."

The cloaked man nodded, and followed the Lord through the doorway once he turned and stomped his way back in. The guard, clearly embarrassed, tenderly closed the steel door behind him.

They found themselves in a tall, wide hall, quite dim despite all of the torches that lined the walls. The air was even hotter and thicker than in the hallway. To his surprise, there were people everywhere; big canopies and booths were set up around the hall, with carpets and rugs laid out across the dirt ground. The hall was almost… loud. The cloaked man nearly stopped; it had been years since he'd seen so many people in one place. Men, women and children walked around, conversing and arguing, crying and laughing, haggling prices and cracking jokes.

"Incredible, isn't it?" Evander had stopped with him, turning around. "This is the Home, all right. For the past five years, people across Valoran have come here for safety. The last hidden city in all the continent."

Safe, of course, was a matter of opinion, the cloaked man thought as he continued to follow the Lord through the hall. Several hallways lead off the large main hall; down one of them, two men were fighting. One was on the ground, struggling, his limbs flying everywhere, while the other held him down and wailed on him with his big fists. Evander paid them no heed. Down another, a man held a woman against a wall, one hand at her throat and one at her hips, lifting her dress. His pants were down around his knees, as despite his throttling, the cloaked man could still hear her weak cries of help. Two children chased each other past the hallway, not even casting a glance.

It was the only place left for humans in Valoran, one big cesspool of activity and rage. A disgusting city for the scum of the earth.

"Trinkets, m'lord?" a weak, scratchy voice called. The cloaked man looked around for the source, then down. An old, withered she-yordle, draped in rags, gestured to her booth a few feet away. Wards, orbs, lenses and mysterious stones were lined up on a tattered carpet. He was almost caught off guard; he hadn't seen a single member of the tiny, hairy humanoid species since the rise of the Voidborn five years previous. He'd assumed they'd all been hunted for sport as soon as the Voidborn took control.

But here she was, croaking at him irritatingly. Like most yordles, she was only about three feet tall, and covered in thick hair. Her large ears were bitten and tattered, her big eyes watery and bloody. Besides humans, yordles were the most dominant form of intelligent life on Valoran… a trait clearly not echoed in this saleswoman. He continued walking past her, paying little heed.

"Bastard!" she shouted in her hoarse voice.

Evander snorted. "Not exactly the kindest place, my friend."

They kept walking, the cloaked man drinking in the energy. How long had it been since he had last seen a human or yordle…? "I know what you're thinking," Evander said over his shoulder, still walking. "Must've taken a lot to energy to create this place. But since the Voidborn Invasion, Summoners like me have been hunted down more and more… the pool of magic's been expanded for the ones remaining. I've never been stronger," he boasted. "I could take on a whole army if I needed to."

The Lord led him through to another tall door at the end of the hall, set into the wall on the top of a dais. He opened the doors grandly and marched through; the cloaked man followed.

The room was large and sparsely decorated, much reflecting of Lord Evander himself. Furs hung over everything, and large stuffed heads were nailed into the walls. If one were to see the Lord and his room without knowledge of him beforehand, they may think he was simply a successful hunter or scavenger, and not one of the most powerful Summoner mages left in Valoran.

Evander sat behind a big wooden desk at the far end. It was only then that the cloaked man noticed that a woman standing against the wall behind the desk; she was elderly, with dark grey skin, and had deep purple tattoos cutting across her face and bare arms. She wore a strange, purple garb, draped around her elegantly, covering everything from her neck to her feet, except for her arms. Around her wrists clattered several cheap metal bracelets; her gray-streaked black hair was pulled up around her head in a strange fashion. She seemed to mould into the shadows of the room, watching him carefully.

Evander groaned and stretched, relaxing in his chair. "So," he said once he was settled, "am I correct in assuming you are the one who sent my son, Elgin?"

The cloaked man nodded.

"And Elgin was sent with a message, claiming you would pay handsomely for a meeting with a Seer," Evander continued. "Is this true as well?"

The cloaked man nodded again. "Where is he now?" he asked.

The Seer behind the Lord opened her eyes wider, slightly startled by his voice. But Evander showed no signs of surprise. "My son left as soon as his message was delivered," he explained. "All he said was, a cloaked man in the Great Barrier is searching for a Rune Seer. Then he was off again." Evander shook his head. "That boy… it's a miracle he hasn't been caught yet."

The cloaked man nodded, then reached into his cloak. He retrieved a large, heavy bag that jingled brightly as it was moved; at the sight of it, the Seer's eyes lit up in excitement. He brought it closer and the Seer stepped forwards to receive it, but instead Evander swiped it out of his hand. "You'll get your share when it's time, whore," he snapped in his loud, booming voice, shouting over his shoulder at the Seer. She stepped backwards, disappointed.

Evander opened the tie on the bag and opened it onto his desk. Several big, golden coins poured out. He counted them carefully, and once he was done, he waved at the Seer. "Do what you must," he said carelessly, now placing them back into the sack.

The Seer moved around the desk gracefully, her dark eyes never leaving the shadowy face under the hood. She faced him, then slowly lowered herself to her knees, still watching him. The cloaked man sat down across from her as well.

Never breaking her gaze, she reached into a layer of her cloak and pulled out a rolled up scroll, as well as a little velvet drawstring bag. First she pulled the scroll open, revealing what looked like an ancient map of Valoran. It was still curling up at the edges, but after slowly gliding her hands just an inch or so over it, moving from the centre to the edges, it lay flat on the carpet. Next she opened the bag and dumped a pile of small, flat, smooth stones onto the map. The cloaked man gazed down: more runes. The tiny etches were unremarkable and difficult to read unless you held them up to your face.

She opened her dark, cracked lips. "What is the truth you wish to seek?" she asked in a voice that sounded as if she hadn't spoken in months.

"I wish to find the downfall of the Voidborn."

The Seer's eyebrows lifted. Even Evander looked up and snorted. The cloaked man didn't move an inch, stoic and solid as a statue, and retained his eye contact with the Seer, his eyes invisible to his company.

"A very broad request," she said. Her tone sounded as if she were doubting her own abilities. "I will try my hardest."

She took a deep breath and held out her hand. After a moment of internal conflict, the cloaked man pulled back his sleeve and held out his hand to her. It was a grayish blue, his hand large and clawed. She seemed surprised, but not as shocked as she had been with his request. She clasped it in her own hand, then held the other over the map and the stack of runes.

Then, she raised her head and closed her eyes. For what seemed like an entire minute, she sat there completely still, full of absolute silence. The cloaked man began to wonder if he had been caught in a scam… but Evander would never trick someone if money was involved. The Seer's face didn't move a muscle; it was as if she were becoming as much a stone as the runes beneath her.

Suddenly, her eyes popped open. Instead of the dark colour they'd been before, they glowed a bright blue; no discernable iris or pupil could be seen. Her mouth fell open, and the cloaked man thought he could see the light tumble from her lips as well. A wave of ancient magic crashed upon him like an ocean wave, breaking through him. This was no scam.

Slowly at first, the hand above the runes began to twitch. Her runes then began to glow, the same blue as her eyes, as though the markings were inlaid with tiny gems. Then, one by one, they started to fly off the map, though she didn't touch them. Finally, when only a handful remained, she seemed to flick them back and forth; they flitted around the map, landing haphazardly on different spots. A few more flew off, but the majority seemed to dance across the drawings in a strange choreography.

He looked back up at her face as the light began to fade from her eyes. Then, very suddenly, she gasped loudly and her entire body shuddered, as though she'd just broken from a terrible nightmare. Then she collapsed down, her shoulders slumped; he hadn't realized that she was almost being raised from her knees during the reverie. Her head fell, chin against her chest.

Evander half-raised himself from his seat. Both him and the cloaked man remained completely still for a few moments, until Evander got too impatient. "Speak, hag!" he growled. "What have you seen?!"

The Seer, breathing deeply, raised her head. She seemed exhausted. "Far too broad of a request," she panted, avoiding the cloaked man's steady gaze. The dark shadows that covered his entire face was beginning to unnerve her. "I couldn't… be quite certain…"

"What did you see?!" Evander demanded, impatient as ever.

She then raised her eyes to gaze straight into the dark hood. "If you seek to defeat the Voidborn… ban them from Runeterra… you will need to find a Summoner…"

"I'm a Summoner," Evander muttered.

"…from the Voodoo Lands," she continued, speaking over him. "A Summoner in the Voodoo Lands will guide you to battle."

The hooded man nodded. He opened his mouth, about to thank her, but thought perhaps his voice would startle her even more; she seemed very ill, and a little unnerved. Whatever what was in her vision had to be terrible.

"But I warn you," she managed to say, her words slurring a bit. "The road is not always successful. I… show the path. I cannot guarantee your success…"

The hooded man got to his feet. Evander nodded to him. "If that's all you need," he said in his gruff voice, "then I trust you can find your way out. I'll hold the gate open for you for twenty minutes, and not a second longer… it's getting late and we don't take many chances around here."

The Lord of the Home closed his eyes for a moment, clearly dispelling the enchanted gate in the Flats above, then opened them and smiled at the cloaked man. Evander got to his feet. "Unless you'd like to stay with us for awhile longer. Boris told us you were a very powerful mage yourself… a skilled warrior. Not that we fear any attacks – we're the most hidden civilization in Runeterra. But you saw the kind of security we have. We could use a man like you."

The cloaked man shook his head. "I'm afraid," he said quietly, trying to dim his harsh voice, "I can't accept your offer. I'll be leaving for the Voodoo Lands immediately."

Evander frowned. "You're not seriously seeking a fight with the Voidborn, are you?" he asked, the doubt thick in his voice. "Powerful as I am, I've had my fair share of encounters with those ugly creatures… and they're tougher than us humans. I can't imagine what their higher-ups must be like."

"I can handle them," the cloaked man answered simply.

Evander opened his mouth to speak again, but a chorus of loud shrieks suddenly echoed outside of his door, dimmed to almost a whisper-like volume through the heavy iron door. The Lord, the cloaked man and the Seer all turned.

The blood from Evander's face seemed to drain away. "No," he said weakly, as the screams grew louder and were copied over and over until it seemed the entire population of the Home was wailing in the Hall. He then hurried to the door, grabbed onto the handle with a shaking fist, and turned it.

Through the door was complete and utter chaos. At first it was difficult to see exactly what was happening; people and yordles alike were running in all directions, screaming. It wasn't until a fountain of blood shot into the air that the cloaked man could comprehend what was happening.

A swarm of small, quadrupedal creatures were scuttling across the floor on needle-like feet, chasing the people of the Home. Many were already in their grip; the disgusting purple insect-like monsters lunged forwards, stabbing and slicing their prey with their foremost legs before consuming the flesh with its disguised mouth. Before his very eyes, one, which was consuming a screaming shopkeeper, suddenly shivered and then grew to twice its own size. It was now nearly as tall as the man himself.

_Voidlings. _He knew these creatures very, very well; he'd been seeing them for years, even before the Voidborn invasion.

His eyes were then attracted to the site of an even larger fountain of blood, and possibly the loudest scream yet. It pierced the very air around him, loud and shrill. As a Voidling moved out the way, he suddenly saw a woman, lying on her back, with her lower body entirely inside of another creature's maw.

He did not have to look very hard to recognize her predator. It was Cho'Gath, the Terror of the Void.

He knew this creature even better. It was a hideous bipedal Voidborn monster, covered in a shiny purple and red exoskeleton; its body was long, and a thick, spiked tail swung behind it as it engorged itself on its prey. It was hunched over, with four arms protruding from its torso: the two topmost ending in gross scythes, and the bottom two with pincer-like claws. As the screaming did not subside, he thought he saw a look of annoyance upon the creature's hideous face just before it clamped her head in his pincer and crushed it like a fruit. The face was the work part; its mouth dominated the insectoid visage, full of sharp fangs and dribbling spit. Two bull-like horns came from either side of its head, creating a frame for its large, glowing green eyes.

Before the cloaked man could see any more, Evander swung the door shut behind him. The man was now visibly sweating, his eyes as big as moons. The man locked the door and began pacing, his hands on his head. The Seer, obviously confused and still disoriented, was swaying on the ground.

"Fuck!" the Lord shouted. "They've found us… we're dead…"

The cloaked man looked down upon himself. It seemed that he'd had a good run of anonymity… but unless there was a secret way out – and Evander's reaction seemed to suggest there was none – he would die there unless he fought.

He raised his arm, and felt the power within himself flow freely. As much as he wanted to deny it, it felt good to allow it to breath once more… on his right arm, a blade, crafted of perfect Void energy, extended, its origin just an inch off the back of his hand. It sliced through his sleeve, leaving the torn ends of the fabric vibrating with a dull purple energy.

Evander looked at him in horror; even the Seer saw it and was amazed. The blade was long and ever-moving, a beautiful ray of purple light imbued with the very essence of the Void. To see that energy in the realm of humans and yordles was almost enough to take their breath away. With the blade, the man sliced the rest of his cloak off his body quickly and precisely. Naked, he stood before them, his form revealed.

He was brilliant, a marvel of half-man, half-Voidborn. He was taller than most humans, and his body seemed to contain more muscle than a normal human could. His skin was a pale grey, nearly blue; apart from these defects his body was almost completely human. His face, however, was too terrible for the humans to look at.

His eyes glowed a bright yellow, and there was no nose to be seen. His mouth was that of a humans, but from his jawline came four long, tentacle-like appendages; they moved at their own accord, waving in the air like larvae of some disturbing, ancient insect. He was truly one of the Voidborn, they thought, and Evander stumbled back, terrified.

"Y-You're one of them!" Evander shouted.

"No," the man answered in his metallic voice. "I am not. I am Kassadin, purifier of the Void."

A moment after, something hit the heavy door of Evander's room. The Lord shouted in fear, jumping backwards; Kassadin merely moved his gaze to the door. He had to think quickly.

He looked back at Evander. "You are a Summoner," he said. "Lend your powers to me."

Evander looked at him with an outraged expression. "Are you insane?!" he shouted. "And let myself die?! You can go fuck yourself, Voidborn!"

Another bang echoed around the room, and a faint hissing sounded.

"Listen," Kassadin urged. "I was a Champion of the League of Legends. I fought for years against the Voidborn. I pledged my life to stop them from entering Runeterra… your only chance of survival is through me!"

Evander simply shook his head and held his hands out. A faint bubble formed around him; only the edges of it could be seen, making the air shimmer like a mirage.

"I trust you not, Champion or not," Evander said, his voice thick and frightened. "Why should I believe you?!"

"Because _look at what they've done to me!"_ Kassadin shouted, his voice filling the room.

As his voice rose to a peak, the door flew off its hinges with a loud bang. The Seer let out a wail and tumbled to her side, hands covering her head. Because the walls, ceiling and floor were all made of dirt, a giant cloud of dust and dirt flew into the air.

Kassadin jumped lightly and allowed himself to be caught in the air, levitating just a few inches above the ground. As the fog began to settle, he used the distraction to strategically locate himself behind the desk, at least keeping something between him and their invaders.

As it settled, he first saw the Voidborn's large green eyes cut through the smoke. Then, with a terrible growl, Cho'Gath himself lunged into the room, towards the unmoving figure of the Seer. Immediately, the Voidborn's jaws clamped around her legs, and the Seer let out a deafening shriek, her hands leaving her face. Kassadin could only watch; the longer the assailant was preoccupied with his prey, the better.

The Champion had seen death, hundreds of times before… but something in her face, the look of pure helplessness and agony in her eyes, was an entirely different experience.

Cho'Gath did not stop until ever last inch of the Seer's flesh was consumed. When he was only halfway done the woman stopped her screaming, instead falling to the floor, obviously dead. Evander stood to Kassadin's right, his bubble of protection still around him; his eyes were as wide as moons, his skin as pale as snow. Sweat dripped down his forehead and into his thick beard.

Once Cho'Gath was finished, he raised his head, and fixed both eyes on Kassadin. At first the Voidborn seemed confused; then, with the swiftness of a river crushing a dam in its way, a rush of memories seemed to come back to him. Cho'Gath smiled.

"Kassadin!" Cho'Gath snarled. The Voidborn's voice was growly and thick, as though something was always bubbling in its throat. It was hard to understand what he was saying, but after years of almost constant battle with the Voidborn, it was easier for him. No doubt Evander heard nothing in the rough growls.

"Brother!" the Cho'Gath continued. "It truly has been too long… where have you been?! We've been searching for you for years!"

"I am no brother of yours, Voidborn," Kassadin said, snarling with venom.

"And tell me… where have you hidden that glorious armour we bestowed upon you…?" Cho'Gath said mockingly. "You'd been wearing it for so long… I almost thought you'd come to appreciate it!"

"When your King and your terrible kind invaded I stripped myself of anything that could have traced me back to that hell you thrive in," Kassadin retorted. He then lifted his left arm just slightly, and with a twitch of his fingers, a ball of purple energy grew from the air around his hand, pulsating and glowing a deep purple… magic from the Void. "I suggest you return to it, Cho'Gath. Otherwise I will not spare you or any of your kind."

Cho'Gath made a noise that sounded as though he were choking. Then it began laughing, throwing its terrible head back. "You?! Fight us?! You knew using your Void magic would draw us to you… you haven't used it in five years! You're rusty, Kass! You stand no chance!"

Kassadin said nothing. Cho'Gath clicked in amusement.

"Though I would love nothing more than to eat you here and now," the creature continued, "I know I'll receive a hefty reward if I bring you in to Malzahar… now that's a fight I'd like to see!"

Kassadin still saw Evander in the corner of his eye. The old Summoner was going nowhere… and if he stayed put, maybe, just maybe, he could make it out alive.

The Champion analyzed his possibilities. He had to find an opening to attack Cho'Gath. The Voidborn was right: he was rusty with his abilities, and he couldn't hope to face that creature in all of its flesh-fed glory in hand-to-hand combat.

Cho'Gath sighed. "You're quite a shame, Kassadin, you know that? We could have done so much for you…"

Kassadin looked up. There was a hairline crack in the ceiling; had it always been there? Or was Evander's concentration slipping due to his fear?

"I'm sure our King could still make use of you, you know…"

"Is that so?" Kassadin asked. "Well, perhaps you could send him a message for me."

Cho'Gath chortled. "And what would that be, you abomination?"

Kassadin grinned for a moment… and then, with utmost speed and precision, he flung his left arm forward. The ball of Void magic that was accumulating shot through the air towards Cho'Gath; immediately, Kassadin leapt to his right, still floating carefully, landing carefully behind Evander. With a vicious snarl, Cho'Gath dove out the way as well, moving to the right. But the Voidborn recovered quickly, and prepared to pounce.

Kassadin gazed up at the ceiling and lifted his left arm again, fingers stretched out. In a coned shape, another burst of energy exploded from his fingertips, pushing out like a wave; it collided with the broken ceiling, disappeared as it made contact. A deep rumbling sound emanated from somewhere, and dust began to fall from the hairline cracks; then, like a waterfall, rocks, dirt and dust poured from the fissure.

Evander yelped like an injured dog and raised both hands to stop the avalanche. He succeeded, catching all of the falling debris before it even hit the ground in some invisible net of sorts, but did not manage to hold it there for long. A second later he screamed again, louder this time, and sharper. The old Summoner looked down slowly, only to see a glowing purple sword, crafted of dark matter, sticking from his chest.

Kassadin removed his blade and allowed the Lord of the Home to fall to the ground; the debris crashed to the ground just as the Voidborn pounced, catching Cho'Gath under the cascade. For a few seconds, the disgusting alien creature was preoccupied.

The rumbling in the distance grew louder. From the main hall, Kassadin suddenly became aware of the screaming again; it was growing louder, and even more panicked. Deep fissures grew in the ceiling and walls around him, and dust fell from the cracks. The Home was caving in on itself.

Through every pore in his skin, Kassadin could feel an energy seeping into him. It was as though he were a sponge, absorbing the suddenly flow of magic that pulsed out of Evander's failing body. If the source of magic in Runeterra was a network of piping and plumbing, and the Summoners were the faucets, the death of a Summoner mage was equal to ripping a tap from its pipe. A sudden outpouring of magic was released into the mortal environment, only to close off once the pool of magic could heal itself again.

He had not much time. He could see Evander writhing on the ground, bleeding from his deep chest cavity… there was no way to save him. And Cho'Gath was already making his way up… but still, the Champion had to wait for the perfect moment.

"I will feast upon your flesh," Cho'Gath choked with a loud hiss.

Just a moment later, the ceiling caved in, beginning in the centre of the room and rippling outward. Giant chunks of rock and dirt tumbled around; the network of magic that kept the Home stable, hundreds of feet beneath the surface, was failing along with Evander's body. Cho'Gath screeched as a boulder tumbled onto him, completely obscuring the creature from view.

Kassadin closed his eyes. He gathered all the energy he could hold within himself, until he could feel the magic pulse through his very veins. He twitched and convulsed, his body racked with the effort it required to contain it all… but he had to focus. He straightened up and imagined the surface above him… clean air, rolling hills, green grass.

Just as a boulder fell above him, he released the magic, and disappeared in an orb of purple light.

* * *

The Tempest Flats were peaceful aboveground. The night sky stretched above the gentle plains and curved hills, the stars glistening like glitter upon a deep blue backdrop. The Great Barrier could only be faintly seen in the distance, a dark silhouette against the stillness of the sky. A gentle breeze brushed through the grass, whistling through the landscape.

Only a faint rumbling could be heard from the surface as the earth struggled to reclaim the space it had lost. Nobody would know that hundreds of feet under the earth, thousands of humans, yordles and Voidborn alike were suffering, struggling for breath as they were buried beneath tons of rock and dirt… crushed for the rest of eternity. A silent grave for the nameless survivors of the Voidborn invasion.

The silence broke first with the sound of a bubble being formed; then, just a few feet next to the giant stone that protected the entrance to the Home, a purple orb grew out of the air itself, larger and larger. Then, with a loud gasp, riddled with the metallic tone of a Voidborn, a human shape emerged.

Kassadin flew out of the orb and landed gracelessly on the ground, falling on his back. He breathed deeply, his body heaving; breath was difficult in the Void-riddled body he was trapped in, but he had never teleported that far before, and he was absolutely winded.

He lay there for minutes on end, gazing up at the stars. He had survived; and he knew where he had to go. The Voodoo Lands were his destination.

He pushed his right hand into the ground and grabbed the long, soft blades of grass. Somewhere deep beneath him, thousands of lives were extinguishing, a death as quiet as their existence… the Void had taken them too. Despite all of their success, they'd finally caught up with them.

And Evander the Summoner, Lord of the Home, protector of all those people… was dead. He made a sacrifice, a choice he had no say in, to save Kassadin's life. All the Champion could do to repay it was by eliminating the Voidborn.

Finally, he got to his feet. He was still naked, devoid of his armour and even his cloak. He had to find a cover, a mask for his terrible body… the body that the Void had given him.

With one last glance at the Great Barrier, Kassadin turned his back to the mountains and began his long march south. If the Voodoo Lands held a Summoner that would help him, then he would find it… or he would die searching.


	3. Of Air & Shadows

Beneath the ancient city of Icathia, in the very same cavernous prison that once held the Chronokeeper, the cells continued even deeper into the earth. At the very bottom, where the magic of the ruins was at its absolute paramount, five other prisoners were held captive, locked in iron cages that hung from the cavern's roof by thick chains and dangled over what seemed to be an endless pit into the centre of the earth. On occasion, a deep rumble, like some ancient, slumbering beast, echoed up from the shadowy pit, and a glint of fire could be seen.

None of the prisoners spoke. The enchanted restraints that prevented any use of magical ability sucked the energy from them, and all lay on the floor of their cages but one. Time passed differently in the cavern… days could be months, months could be years, years could be seconds. How long had it been since they'd last ate? How long had it been since they'd seen the sun? The magic that bound them there kept them weak, but it kept them alive, with little energy to do much but despair.

One of the prisoner's eyes opened. For a moment, before her she saw the comfortable room they'd given her at the Institute of War… high up in a tower, where she could see the sky day and night. But before she could dream any longer the vision faded, and once more she lay on the hard, unforgiving cage floor, staring into the darkness of the cavern.

Warily, she attempted to sit up. The cage shook at the slightest movement, throwing one's balance off with just the gentlest weight shift. She felt heavy and useless… like a human. Years of studying the arts of the air element had given her a lightness, a power over the wind that left her as light as the breeze, but down in the prison she was like every other person.

When she was captured they'd taken her clothing, the garb she used to represent herself in the League of Legends as a champion… instead they'd given her an unflattering, plain shift that draped off her slender body like a sack. Her hair, once beautiful and shimmering white, lay about her, tangled and greasy. The light in her eyes, once bright and clear as the morning sky, was gone, replaced with a coldness, a hardness… it was difficult for her to believe that once she had been Janna Windforce, the Storm's Fury, guardian of justice and protector of Runeterra.

Now what was she?

"JANNA."

A voice saying her name, metallic and emotionless, echoed through the prison. The girl gasped, frightened, and slammed into the back of her small cage, sending it reeling in circles. As it spun, the other four cages came into clear view.

Nearest to her was the largest of the four, encasing a strange subject. It was a golem, large and encased in golden steel, with a round body, short legs, and giant arms, strong and wide. Its head, small and round, bore two shining white eyes that glared into Janna's. Another champion of the League of Legends.

And she remembered. With a sigh, she said, "Blitzcrank, it's you. I'm sorry, I'm afraid I'm feeling a little out of it at the moment."

"PERFECTLY UNDERSTANDABLE," the Great Steam Golem said, enunciating its words perfectly. The robotic voice was too loud for the space they were in, bouncing off the stone walls. "I SCANNED YOU ALL WHILE YOU WERE ASLEEP. I ASSUME THE MAGICAL RESTRAINTS AFFECT HUMANS FAR WORSE THAN –"

"Blitzcrank, please be a little quieter," Janna pleaded, interrupting him. "I think I'm starting to get a headache.

"OF COURSE. MY APOLOGIES." As though someone turned down a volume dial, his voice faded slightly to a more comfortable level. "PLEASE ASSIST ME IN WAKING OUR COMPANIONS. I HAVE IMPORTANT NEWS."

Janna frowned. "News? How? The Voidborn haven't come down in…" She lost her trail of thought. How much time had passed?

"WITH THE COPIOUS AMOUNT OF TIME WE HAVE BEEN GIVEN IN THIS PRISON, I HAVE DEVELOPED MY DIGITAL AUDIO RECORDER TO WORK IN CORRESPONDENCE WITH MY BUILT-IN SEISMOGRAPH TO DEVELOP THE SLIGHT VIBRATIONS ON THE SURFACE INTO AUDIO MESSAGES," Blitzcrank explained. Janna, an experienced techmaturge, followed along as closely as she could, but the Steam Golem was clearly far more advanced than she was. "IN ESSENCE, I HAVE BEEN ABLE TO LISTEN TO SOME OF THE CONVERSATIONS GOING ON ABOVE. THE VOID KING'S VOICE CAUSES THE MOST VIBRATIONS, SINCE ITS FREQUENCY IS FAR LOWER THAN MOST HUMANS', AND SO I HAVE BEEN ABLE TO OVERHEAR HIS PLANS FOR US."

Janna frowned. "His plans? What does he wants to do with us…?"

"IN THE FIVE YEARS THAT HAVE PASSED SINCE THE VOIDBORN INVADED RUNETERRA, THEY HAVE –"

"Wait… what?!" Janna gasped. Five years?! Five years trapped underground in a cage… how could that be possible? Five years of her life, gone in a moment.

"INDEED, FIVE YEARS HAVE PASSED SINCE OUR CAPTURE, JANNA," Blitzcrank confirmed. "THIS MAY BE A SHOCK TO YOU. THE MAGICAL RESTRAINTS THEY HAVE PLACED ON US HAVE CERTAINLY WARPED YOUR SENSE OF THE PASSAGE OF TIME. I, ON THE OTHER HAND, HAVE TAKEN ADVANTAGE OF OUR PROLONGED CAPTIVITY TO ADVANCE MY TECHNOLOGY."

Janna's head was swimming. "Blitzcrank… how… how are we going to get out?"

"I HAVE DEVELOPED A PLAN THAT HAS AN APPROXIMATE 24 PER CENT CHANCE OF SUCCESS," the robot explained. "THE VOIDBORN HAVE BEEN SEARCHING FOR SEVERAL IMPORTANT FIGURES ACROSS RUNETERRA DURING THE TIME OF OUR IMPRISONMENT. THESE INCLUDE JARVAN LIGHTSHIELD THE FOURTH OF DEMACIA, JERICHO SWAIN OF NOXUS, KARMA OF IONIA AND ASHE OF THE FRELJORD… I HAVE CALCULATED AND HYPOTHESIZED THAT IN ORDER TO MAINTAIN FULL CONTROL OF THE REMAINING POPULATION OF RUNETERRA, THEY WISH TO HOLD THE FOUR LEADERS OF THE MOST PROMINENT SOCIETIES OF THE WORLD IN THEIR POWER."

"And have they captured any of them?" Janna asked eagerly.

"NO," Blitzcrank replied. Janna let out of a quiet sigh of relief. "HOWEVER, APPROXIMATELY THREE YEARS AGO – TWO YEARS AFTER THE VOIDBORN ENTERED OUR REALM – THE VOID KING NUL'GOLAGRIA CAPTURED JARVAN LIGHTSHIELD THE THIRD, FATHER OF THE FOURTH. IN AN ATTEMPT TO INTERROGATE HIM REGARDING THE WHEREABOUTS OF THE OTHER REMAINING "MONARCHS", HE WAS UNFORTUNATELY KILLED. THE VOIDBORN'S METHODS OF TORTURE WERE CLEARLY NOT DESIGNED FOR PEOPLE OF OUR REALM."

Janna shuddered. How could the King of Demacia have felt in those last moments? What could those otherworldly, alien creatures have done to him? All of a sudden she felt cold. What was happening to her? She was a master of air… and the magics had taken their toll on her. She was once serene and emotionless, beautiful and ethereal, for better or for worse. And now she was heavy, all-feeling and burdened.

"What do we have to do?" she asked in a voice that sounded as though it belonged to a child.

"FIRST, ASSIST ME IN AWAKENING OUR COMPANIONS," Blitzcrank commanded.

"Right," she replied. She twisted around in her cage, looking in the other ones. The smallest one was closest to her… in the gloom, she could just barely see the creature it contained. It was small and furry, lying on its stomach against the metal floor of the cage. It was held slightly higher than hers, adding to the difficulty of identifying it.

But as yet another low rumble racked the cavern and a flash of fire glinted below them in the pit, the light swept across the creature's body. Pale, sand-coloured fur covered its body, with a bright red shock of longer hair around its collar. It was a yordle; it was Teemo.

"Teemo," Janna said in her quiet voice, surprised. The yordle did not stir. She straightened up slightly, grabbing the bars of the cage with her small, pale hands. "Teemo, wake up," she said, even louder.

If Blitzcrank's loud, echoing metal voice couldn't wake up the creature, Janna doubted she could. But when she looked back at the golem, he was only watching her expectantly with his bright white eyes. She took a deep breath, feeling the hot, stiff air fill her lungs, and tried once more.

"Teemo," she said, her voice lower and stronger. She felt a tingling against her bare arms as she uttered the word… she could practically see her voice ripple through the air, vibrating through the void in the cavern towards the yordle. Had she summoned magic through the restraints? It felt as though the thick air was slipping through a crack in the armour that bound her. Perhaps the element she spent so long controlling hadn't left her yet.

As the call rippled across the yordle's fur, Teemo stirred. To her astonishment, the creature let out a little yawn, high-pitched and squeaky, like a little child's. The yordle shook its head, shaking out the fur on its head and neck… sleepily, he looked up, his eyes lost in the thick, dark fur that encircled them.

"Mmm… what time is it?" Teemo muttered, his eyes fluttering open and closed.

"Teemo," Janna whispered urgently. "You have to stay awake. We're going to get out of here."

"Where are we…?" the creature murmured.

Janna shook her head a little. "Hell," she said, mostly to herself. "But you have to wake up. Blitzcrank is going to help us."

She turned around in her cage, causing it to shake and sway. She lost her balance and fell across the cage, landing on the other side. She let out a shout as her frail body collided with the metal, but she recovered quickly, holding her arms out to the other side of the cage to balance it back out. It was as though she'd been rejuvenated with new life. She could feel the power rush back into her, slowly and in small quantities, but enough to serve her.

Janna gazed across the cavern, at the two other cages. Both were human-sized, one slightly larger than the other. In the one closer to her, the smaller one, was Draven of Noxus… yes, it was all coming back to her. They'd been thrown together by the Voidborn upon their capture.

_Five years ago_, she thought in dismay. _Five long years._

Beyond Draven, in the larger cage, was Taric. He looked weak and small without his gem armour protecting him, wrapping him in a foreign realm's magic, but he was still larger than most human men. Draven, a fierce, stubborn and violent warrior from the most treacherous city state of Runeterra, would be easier to awaken. Janna straightened up, held her mouth close to the bars, and whispered his name.

"Draven," she called. She felt the air carry her voice further and further, closer and closer to the cave. Unlike Teemo, who awoke slowly and peacefully, Draven awoke screaming when the noise hit him. The warrior swung wildly, tipping the cage off balance, and was thrown to the side of the cage.

"_Let me out of here_!" he shouted, panicked. Janna rolled her eyes.

"CALM YOURSELF, DRAVEN," Blitzcrank's voice called.

"_LET ME OUT OF HERE_!" Draven shouted again.

Janna sighed loudly. "Relax, champion," she said, propelling her voice towards him again. "You're not in danger. Not yet."

Once her voice passed over him again, he shuddered as though a cold wind had hit him, and then lay back, stunned. Janna was almost shocked to see him that way. The Draven she knew, an executioner of Noxus famous for trying to make his victims run while he threw axes at them, was always so confident and self-assured. This man looked terrified. He no longer had the bulging muscles he sported in the League of Legends, and his hair was overgrown, sticking to his tattooed face. His famous moustache had turned into a beard, scraggly and ugly. The man was glistening with sweat, practically glowing in the dark, soaking through the grey tunic they'd given him.

"What's going on?!" Draven whimpered.

"Relax," Janna repeated. "Everything will be alright. Blitzcrank may have found a way for us to get out of here. Just stay quiet while I try to wake Taric."

Draven fell quiet, panting and gasping. Janna could already feel a headache coming on: she was pushing her luck, dragging too much magic through the thin hole in the magic shield they'd placed around her. But she needed to awaken Taric.

"Wake up, Gem Knight," she whispered, breathing her words toward the large man. "We're getting out of here."

Taric awoke peacefully. Like Draven, he looked dishevelled and aged, his dark hair plastered to his forehead. But he was completely silent as he rose to his feet, standing perfectly balanced in the cage, massive and daunting. Whereas the warrior spirit was more hidden within Draven's now-decrepit body, Janna didn't have to look too hard to see the old Taric she once knew.

"Blitzcrank believes he may have a way for us to escape this prison," Janna said quietly, her voice small but strong. The other four could hear her perfectly well, the cavern providing a prime environment for echoes.

"How long… how long have we been here?" Draven asked, his voice faltering.

"APPROXIMATELY FIVE YEARS," Blitzcrank answered.

Janna shook her head slightly as Draven wailed. She was planning to break the news a little more sensitively than Blitzcrank had, but at least they were all on the same page. Behind her, Teemo gasped; Taric's face only betrayed slight confusion.

"But… my brother!" Draven shouted, panicky. "Wh-where… _where is everyone_?!"

Janna could only faintly remember Draven's brother, another Champion from the League. He was probably obnoxious like him, and cruel as well.

"WE MAY NOT HAVE MUCH TIME," Blitzcrank cut off. "MY SIGNALS ARE TELLING ME THAT THE VOIDBORN ARMY ARE COMING DOWN NOW TO COLLECT US."

"What's your plan, Blitzcrank?" Teemo asked. The little yordle hadn't been given any clothing to wear. The Voidborn army probably thought of them more as animals than people, and Janna felt sorry for the little trooper. His voice was shaking, and he sounded more like a frightened child than an ex-champion of the League.

"THE VOIDBORN ARMY ARE PLANNING ON BRINGING US TO THE SURFACE TO MAKE AN ANNOUNCEMENT THAT WILL BE HEARD ACROSS RUNETERRA," Blitzcrank explained. "BY EXAMINING THESE CAGES, I HAVE DEDUCTED THAT MOST OF THE MAGIC SHIELD PLACED UPON US COMES FROM THEM. ONCE WE ARE FREED FROM THESE RESTRAINTS, THE MAGICAL SHIELD PLACED UPON US – WHICH BOTH RESTRICTS OUR ABILITIES AND LOWER YOUR STAMINA – WILL BE DIMINISHED BY AT LEAST 60 PER CENT. IF WE MANAGE TO OVERCOME THE VOIDBORN THAT COME TO ESCORT US, WE WILL MOST LIKELY BE ABLE TO ESCAPE."

"I don't have my axes," Draven replied. "How am I supposed to fight?!"

"I am also without my weapon," Taric spoke. His voice, once booming and deep, was hoarse and quiet, but still maintained that dark certainty he always had. Janna felt calmed in his presence.

"I may be able to summon my abilities," Janna said quietly. "But I can't fight alone… without my staff, or any conduit, I'll get worn out fairly quickly. But as long as Blitzcrank is with me we might stand a chance."

"I think I can fight," Teemo piped up. "I'm not really strong, but I'm fast. They'll never see me coming."

The air enchantress heard a noise. "Shhh," Janna hissed, raising a finger to her lips. The other four Champions fell absolutely silent. Rising from the vacuum of absolute quiet, a clicking noise could be heard. It grew in intensity as the seconds passed, like a wave crashing slowly towards them. All of them glanced at the opening at the far end of the cavern that lead to the hallway and the greater prison. A small cliff's edge was connected to the walls above the pit, not nearly close enough to the cages to pull them over. Only a chain dangled from the dark, shadowy roof of the cavern above.

"THEY ARE COMING," Blitzcrank said. "HOLD YOUR ASSAULT UNTIL WE ARE ALL REMOVED FROM THE CAGES."

Janna, Teemo, Draven and Taric all nodded. As the clicking grew louder and louder, all four dropped to the floors of their cages silently, pretended as though they were asleep or unconscious.

It was clear when the Voidborn entered the cavern. The clicking grew almost unbearably loud, echoing around the stone walls. It continued at its terrible volume for what seemed like minutes, pressing against Janna's fragile ear drums until she felt as though a migraine were coming on.

Then, with a dizzying speed, her cage flew through the open air. She would have screamed, but she bit her lip to silence herself, not wanting to draw any attention. The cage, on its chain, glided to a position directly in front of the small cliff. Opening her eyes just a crack, she could see the other four cages being dragged behind her into a long time. They all shuddered, swaying ominously, before one by one they glided forwards until they hung directly over the cliff.

Janna held her breath, unsure of what would happen next, and closed her eyes once more. The floor of the cage dropped out from below her, swinging on steel hinges, and she fell through the air like a ragdoll. Perhaps her shock would have been greater if she wasn't so distracted by the sudden flush of magic that surged through her.

Her skin prickled, as though an electric shock was gliding through her veins. The air around her welcomed her, crying for her command. It was almost too overwhelming for her to handle, and a dizziness clouded her vision as she felt herself land onto the crowd of awaiting Voidborn.

Claws grabbed her, lifting her above with their sharp pincers. She opened her eyes slightly again, and saw that they were beginning to move through the door. She was free from that prison, that terrible looming pit that had held her for five long years.

The air had not forgotten her.

Looking back, she watched as Blitzcrank was also expelled from his cage. The giant golem was clearly too heavy for the Voidborn, who screeched and scattered out of the way, and the robot made a loud clang as it collapsed onto the rocky floor. Janna had to stifle a laugh. Any reasonable person wouldn't laugh under those circumstances, she knew, but she actually felt joy. Her powers were returning to her. How could these grunts expect to face her when magic was on her side?

She waiting until she was certain that all four of her companions were freed from their restraints. She could feel them carrying her uphill, up the path of the prison that would bring them to the surface. Now would be as good of a time as any.

She opened her eyes. Overflowing with newfound energy, her eyes glowed a bright blue, shining like beacons in the dark. The Voidborn – all little purple insects she knew as Voidlings – immediately began hissing as she assessed her surroundings. They were on a thin ledge, bordered by a rock wall to their left and an empty chasm to their right. No turning back now.

With a shout, she pushed herself up into the air. The air caught around her, holding her in midair, hovering a few feet above the Voidborn. They all began clicking and hissing, snapping their pincers up at her, but she didn't care. She was still, and would forever be Janna Windforce, a Champion of the League of Legends, and nobody could stop her.

Blitzcrank behind her sprang up from the grasps of his captors as well, immediately leaping into battle. With his heavy fists bared he swung around, thrashing about and throwing Voidborn left and right into the chasm. Janna grinned as her hair lifted into the air around her, practically crackling with the magic running through her.

With a shout, she collected all the magic in the air around her that she could muster. Her eyes glowed too bright to see through as she held it in, honing it, forming it into the shape she wanted before her. Then, like a cloud releasing its rain, she produced a cyclone and hurled it forth.

The swirling mass of air and magic collided onto the path, knocking over Voidling after Voidling. It headed towards Blitzcrank, who continued to knock off the oncoming creatures.

"Blitzcrank!" Janna warned, shouting out to him. To her great surprise, her voice sounded unnaturally, echoing from her mouth. The way it used to be… the way the wind had intended it to be.

Blitzcrank turned just in time. Without a moment to consider, he raised his giant hand, holding it open towards the rock wall above him. With a sound like a zip wire, his hand launched and gripped onto the rock wall. The moment it made contact and connected, Blitzcrank's clanking body was dragged up into the air, evading the tornado just in time; it passed under him, tossing a crowd of Voidlings over the edge.

Janna grinned once more as a fawn-coloured blur leapt around the corner of the path, darting from Voidborn to Voidborn, leaping high into the air. Teemo had ripped the spiked, sharp arm off of one of the Voidlings and was using it to fight the others. The little yordle dove down and landed atop one of the creatures, digging the pincer into its hard, purple shell. With a squeak, the creature collapsed, dead, while Teemo's dark, focused eyes looked on. He was once again the killing machine that he'd always been in battle.

The three continued their fight. Blitzcrank swung his fists around in circles, crashing into the creatures senselessly; Teemo continued to leap from enemy to enemy, a newfound energy within him. Janna fired blasts of air at the oncoming army, revelling in her freedom. She smiled to herself as she pulled an air elemental from thin air, a little white bird that circle about her head. With a simple flick of her arm, the bird dove at a cluster of Voidlings and scattered them about.

"You two, keep fighting the way up to the surface," Janna shouted at Blitzcrank and Teemo, suddenly remember their other two companions. "I'll look after Taric and Draven."

She soared over the heads of the Voidlings, all of whom snapped and clicked their pincers together in indignation. Hovering just a few feet above the path and accelerating until she was practically flying down the steep, winding pathway, the Voidlings began to scatter, or were caught up in the wake of her movement and flew about in disarray.

The Voidlings who had been holding Taric and Draven were trying to take them a different way. Janna could see them just turning a corner up a path that wound left when theirs had went right. With determination, she surged forwards, gliding up the rocky pathway and spinning cyclones in the air behind her.

It didn't take long to catch up. The two men were all but useless, all but buried in the little purple creatures who seemed intent on protecting them. Janna closed her eyes and raised her hands, summoning the moisture in the air around her – a difficult feat, as the atmosphere around them was dry and hot. A powerful wind started blowing around the cavern, gathering into a hurricane-like pattern around her. Clouds formed above her head, and rain tumbled down, swirling around in the winds like a monsoon. The Voidlings were picked up in the wind and, screeching, were thrown either into the wall to their right or off into the chasm to their left.

When every last Voidling was gone, Janna tumbled to the ground. She'd barely realized how much energy that had cost her… head throbbing, she got to her knees, confused and dizzy. Taric crawled to her and placed a large hand on her shoulder, while Draven attempted to stand, holding onto the rock wall next to their narrow pathway.

They had little time to recover before what sounded like another wave was coming. Janna shrugged Taric off and stumbled to her feet, steeling herself for another fight. But the buzzing sound didn't seem to come from behind or before them… it sounded as though it were coming from above.

Janna looked up just as she was thrown backwards into Taric. The two weakened Champions fell over, just inches from the edge of the chasm; Janna's head made solid contact with the rocky ground, causing bright lights to flash before her eyes. Dazed and useless, she could just barely hear Draven shout in fear, then his footsteps as the Noxian executioner tried to run.

The buzzing continued, leaping above her in pursuit. Only a few seconds passed until Draven was thrown on the ground beside them. Janna lifted her head a few inches and looked back. A figure was standing before them.

The creature was vicious and unhuman, purple like the Voidlings with a similar hard, shiny exoskeleton. Large greenish wings broke from its back and long, sharp scythes curved from its arm, with a terrible, insectoid face to match. It was Kha'Zix.

"Well, well," the creature hissed. Janna flinched at the sound of its voice, buzzing in its throat, deep and terrible. "How long has it been? Five years, I believe…?"

Janna opened her mouth to speak, but no words came out. Kha'Zix was here to drag them back to their prison, and there was no way to fight back. It was over. Despair welled up in her stomach, threatening to burst. They had been so close.

"Did you truly believe you could escape? From our home…?" the Voidborn hissed. "You are a fool, Janna Windforce, but you have great spirit... our King will take great pleasure in taking that from you."

Janna's eyes flickered as her vision grew foggy. Just before her eyes closed and she collapsed into complete exhaustion and pain, she turned her head and saw Draven, lying on the path before him, a sharp blade speared through his back.

The magically-enhanced woman fluttered in and out of consciousness as she was dragged up to the surface, carried on a bed of Voidlings that clicked and hissed below her. She watched the chasm pass below her, endless and shadowy… the gate that Kha'Zix pushed open effortlessly… the cool night sky above her. How long had it been since she had seen the stars? They winked and glittered down at her, taunting her. How free they looked, up in the dark sky… how divine.

Her mind returned to her as she was dropped unceremoniously to the floor in the chamber of the Void King. The Voidlings fled, scurrying down the various hallways that lead away from the room. She pushed herself to a sitting position, her brain strangely clear and focused, only to realize that her hands and feet were bound in dark, unforgiving chains.

The room was round and perfectly circular, with a domed ceiling depicting ancient wars and tales. Light only by sparse torches, shadows flickered around the room, like living beings scattering from place to place. Around her on the cracked marble floors were her companions, also chained and bound. Blitzcrank was completely encircled with the chains and had a burlap sack over his head; Teemo was so tiny the chain had to be wrapped around his entire body, holding his arms to his waist.

"How did they overcome our restraints?" a voice asked.

Janna looked up. At the far end of the room, a peculiar scene was unfurling. On a raised dais, complete with a crumbling throne and decorated with a thick curtain behind it, a creature stood, larger than any giant or golem she'd seen. It was insectoid and disturbing, like many of the Voidborn she'd seen, but with a giant rune mask covering its face and a scepter in its hand. Something about the monster's appearance in the realm just didn't fit with her reality… it looked too foreign, too otherworldly, to take up space in Runeterra, like an illusion.

It glared down at Kha'Zix, terrible claws gripping the scepter tightly.

"I was not in charge of placing the restraints, your majesty," Kha'Zix stated in a plain, low voice. Even with the ex-champion's terrible, spiked back turned to her, Janna could practically feel his fear. The Voidreaver seemed even more afraid of the monster than she was. "Perhaps speaking with Razia would be more beneficial to you."

"She is no use to me right now," the colossal Void King snapped, its voice strangely human. "I'm afraid her abilities have gotten the best of her. She will remain in the Void until her control and reason return to her."

The Void King raised his head slowly, and even though the ancient, thick stone of the rune mask separated them, Janna had no doubt that its eyes were focused on her.

"My patience has reached its end, Kha'Zix," the Void King continued, still looking straight at Janna. The air sorceress refused to look away, instead glaring right into the rune scratched into the mask. "Resistances are forming. We have been careless, and tedious in our conquering of this realm… the people of Runeterra are recreating their civilizations across Valoran. We need control."

"And we have control," Kha'Zix reasoned. "Our five prisoners are celebrities of the League of Legends… the people of Runeterra loved them, cheered them on, for years and years. I have no doubt they would do anything for their heroes."

"And we need the help of the people," the Void King finished, with a resigned voice. "We cannot expect to complete our plans whilst the artefacts are out of our grasp. We have no information, no clues to direct us to them… and no one with any knowledge, now that the Chronokeeper has escaped."

The last words were said with a venom. The Chronokeeper… Zilean? Had he been imprisoned as well? Janna's mind raced. Had Zilean known they were there? Perhaps he would return to rescue them…

"The culture of Runeterra is not so different from our own," the Void King added. "Such perfect, deadly objects would not be left unguarded… I have reason to believe the leaders of the city states would have knowledge of them, if not possession of them."

"But where are the leaders?" Kha'Zix questioned.

The Void King stepped off the dais, causing the chamber to shake around them with the sheer weight of the footstep. "That is where are prisoners are finally put to use."

With every footstep, dust fell from the cracks in the ceiling above them. Janna refused to look away as the giant creature approached them, observing them like pigs for slaughter. As he approached, she could see the membrane holding its flesh within the exoskeleton up close… like worms, its muscles rippled and moved freely, as though pulling off a piece of the armour would cause its innards to spill out. She wanted to vomit.

"This one is near to death," the Void King mused, nudging Draven's prostrate body with its clawed, massive foot. Blood spread from the wound in Draven's back where the spear had pierced him and pooled on the ground. His face, scarred and tattooed, was facing her. His eyes were open just a crack, rolled back into his skull, bearing only the ghostly whites; the pool had seeped up to his head, coating half of his face in his own blood. "Perhaps he would send a good message…"

"My lord," Kha'Zix interjected, "that is Draven. He is the brother of Darius, who is –"

"What do I care what its name is?" the Void King scoffed.

Kha'Zix paused. "Darius is the Hand of Noxus, the greatest and most esteemed supporter of General Jericho Swain… Swain is incredibly fond of the two brothers. Perhaps it would not be beneficial to extinguish this captive first."

The Void King paused and pondered his servant's words. A moment later, his face turned up slowly and faced Janna once more. "What about this one…?"

"Janna Windforce," Kha'Zix answered. "Master of the air element."

Janna stared back at the Void King as it made slow, steady progress towards her. With every step her horror grew more and more, until the creature bent down and held its massive head just a few inches from Janna's face. She could see every carved mark in the rune mask, every splatter of dark ink used to stain the carvings. _Justice._

"And who would care if she were to die?" it asked quietly, as though it were asking Janna himself.

"She is… a great friend of Luxanna Crownguard, servant of Jarvan the Fourth," Kha'Zix said after another brief pause. "I have no doubt that with knowledge of her whereabouts, the whole of the Demacian Brigade will walk right into our hands."

"Then she could be of use to us," the Void King mused.

At the mention of Luxanna Crownguard, a fire lit inside of Janna. Lux, her good friend… Lux, all good and kind. Lux, who was light, who was power, who was love. She had no doubt Lux would come for her… and if she did, she would die.

"Kill me," Janna whispered, the fury building within her. "I would rather die than help you in any way, you monster." Her voice was no longer the ethereal, otherworldly sound that it was. She felt like weeping.

The Void King stayed in his position, like a stone statue glaring her down. Almost a minute passed as the two stared each other down, neither moving, neither giving in. Janna could feel a tear slip down her cheek, but she didn't dare blink it away.

Finally the Void King moved his head. "Then, pray tell, Kha'Zix, master of champions… which of these prisoners will set an example for us?"

Kha'Zix paused. "The golem is beloved, but no one will see a robot's death as permanent. The other man or the yordle would be best, I believe."

The Void King looked down at Teemo, just a few feet from Janna. The poor, furry creature looked harmless and innocent in sleep, its mouth hanging open slightly.

"It seems a shame to waste a yordle's life in such a mindless execution," the monster mused. "I myself would like to see it try to run… and I have no time for that now." It swung its head around and straightened up, stomping back towards the dais. "The man will do."

"No!" Janna shouted, her eyes glowing bright. Desperately, she searched for any thread of magic around her, any piece of strength she could summon within her… but there was nothing. There was darkness, and shadow, and nothing she could know.

She turned to Taric, abandoning all pride and confidence. "Taric!" she screamed. "Wake up, Taric!"

"Fetch him for me," the Void King said to Kha'Zix. The Voidreaver marched forwards on its insectoid legs without hesitation, towards the Gem Knight.

"Taric, please!" Janna shouted. "Wake up!" Tears were falling freely from her face now. Five years ago she had been a champion in the League of Legends, a beacon of strength and light in the eyes of Runeterra's people. Now, she felt like a child again, just a street rat scavenging for food in the streets of Zaun. No power, no light, nothing.

Kha'Zix linked a scythe-like arm into the chains that bound Taric's hands behind his back. As he did, he made a deep cut into the Gem Knight's back that tore the thin, weak fabric guarding him. With a yelp, Taric's eyes flashed open just as he was raised from the floor and dragged towards the dais.

As he was dragged away from her, through her tear-filled eyes Janna could see the man's bright blue blood flow freely from his wound, soaking into the garments.

She shut her eyes, feeling around her for anything that could help, but the air around her betrayed her. It was hot and stoic, unmoving and full of apathy. Taric fought in the League of Legends after he had been accidentally summoned from his faraway realm. He hadn't any idea of how to get home, but he sacrificed his search to protect the people of Runeterra, a world he knew nothing of.

Now he would never see his home again.

The blue blood fell to the floor, leaving a trail of drops as Kha'Zix dragged him to the other side of the chamber. The Void King had circled the throne and stood before the curtains, where two Voidborn stood at the ready.

"Now is the time," the King said coolly. "Prepare yourselves." Janna didn't know whether he was talking to Kha'Zix and the guards, or her, but there was no way anyone could be ready for his message.

The two guards grabbed onto the curtains and pulled it back. The moment they spread, an empty, hollow sound filled the chamber, echoing around and filling Janna's ears as it had Zilean's. Janna screamed out in pain, feeling as though her ear drums being pushed further back into her head. She rolled onto her back, paralyzed by the sound.

And then a voice echoed within her head, almost like a thought… but the voice was not hers. It was the Void King's, human and soothing, but as stoic and cold as the Great Barrier. It was terrible and beautiful, like the voice of a God, as it filled her mind.

"Citizens of Runeterra," the voice said. "I am Nul'Golagria, King of the Void, and I bring great news for you."

Janna managed to raise her head slightly. The Void King, his back to her, was facing a portal that swirled black and purple, with his rune mask in his hand. She was grateful she didn't have to look up his face as he spoke.

"We, the Voidborn, have commanded your realm for five sun cycles," it continued. "Now, you may have your chance to join us. We are in search of the leaders of Runeterra, the figures you admire as kings, generals and politicians… King Jarvan Lightshield the Fourth of Demacia, General Jericho Swain of Noxus, the Duchess Karma of Ionia, and Princess Ashe of the Freljord. Any man, yordle or creature who brings forth one or more of these men will face endless glory from the Void, and riches beyond your mortal imaginations. And so, every citizen of this realm is tasked with finding and bringing these men to us, directly to the Institute of War, located at the heart of Valoran.

"However, there are consequences in store for those who refuse our requests – consequences doled out to your nations as one. Every moon cycle that these four are not recovered and brought into our possession, a thousand human and yordle lives will be brought to an end… along with one of our captives. Yes, here with us we have the great champions of your League of Legends… Draven of Noxus, the Steam Golem Blitzcrank, Teemo of Bandle City, Janna Windforce… and Taric, the Gem Knight. To show our grave seriousness in this request, we will give you a demonstration of the retribution bestowed upon enemies of the Void."

Nul'Golagria held a terrible, clawed hand out. Kha'Zix, who held Taric by his chains kneeling on the ground, pushed the Gem Knight forward, onto the dais. The man hollered in pain and Janna wept as the Void King reached out, gripped the champion by his thick arm, and dragged him before the swirling portal.

"Do you have any last words, Taric?" the Void King asked.

Taric didn't move, his head hanging limply. After a few seconds, however, Taric's familiar, kind voice filled Janna's as the Void King's had.

"I know little of Runeterra," he said, "but from what I have seen… you are a good, kind people. Please… protect one another… and… never give in to the Voidborn's requests."

The moment Taric's sentence ended, the Void King tossed his scepter to the ground with a loud thud. Then, in one fluid motion, he rested his free hand upon Taric's head and slowly began squeezing.

Janna's head started to fill with the sound of Taric's screams. Terrified, helpless, enraged, she began to scream as well, a hollow wail with no meaning. She forced her eyes open as the Void King slowly crushed the man's head, sapphire-blue blood seeping from between his giant purple claws.

It took nearly two minutes before Taric's screams ended, but Janna's did not. Once the Gem Knight was dead, the Void King dropped his limp body from his claws, and the mangled body collapsed on the ground, oozing blood.

"Terrors do await our enemies," the Void King summarized, "but glory awaits our allies. Choose wisely, citizens. You cannot escape the Void."

At the close of his speech, the two Voidborn guards released the curtains, which swung back into place and covered the portal. Janna's head was now empty, devoid of voices and empty sound… completely empty. A void. She collapsed, somewhere between awake and unconscious, alive and dead.

"Take the prisoners back to their cages," Nul'Golagria muttered to Kha'Zix, replaced his rune mask. "I must rest. And make sure… there is no chance of escape."

Janna felt nothing as the Voidlings returned to escort her back to the prison. She felt nothing at all. If the Void was the absence of life, of reason and love, then it felt as though it were already inside of her.


	4. The Message

Winding around the tallest peak of the Ironspike Mountains, hidden from view between the ridges and clouds, was the Frost Temple. Legends had said that it was once a great fortress that protected the Iceborn from the Frozen Watchers when they rebelled against their makers; others claimed it was the very palace that the Three Sisters – Avarosa, Serylda and Lissandra – called home. Carved from stone and ice it truly was an ancient relic, a masterpiece kept in pristine condition even after a thousand years.

Lux and Quinn stood at the top of the tallest spire, shivering. It was a watch tower that provided a full view of its surroundings, and the only barricade protecting them from the thousand-foot drop to the dark chasm below was a small stone wall. The winds blew through the arched, glassless windows quickly and easily, and with every gust Lux felt as if a fresh wound were opening on her skin. The sun was going down rapidly and soon it would be dark, which would only bring harsher colds.

"I don't mean to be insensitive," the Lady of Luminosity stammered, her voice quiet and shaking in the gale, "but can't they fly just a bit faster…?"

Quinn opened her mouth to speak, causing her teeth to chatter loudly. The two Demacian soldiers exchanged a look and laughed, a shaky sound that echoed off the mountainside. Finally Quinn managed to speak. "These winds are stronger than the ones Valor is used to," she explained apologetically. "He's trying his best. I can't speak for the golem, however… I've yet to understand how he can even fly with that stone body of his."

The two gazed out to the south, between two large mountain peaks. In the distance, soaring through the twilight sky, were two figures: one was smaller and swayed from side to side, while the larger one kept mainly on course, its giant wings flapping slowly. Lux bit her lip, but the cold had numbed her so much that she could hardly feel her teeth digging into her skin.

Four years at the border of the Freljord and still she could not bear the freezing temperatures. The servant girl, Avarosa, had plied them all with the furs and warm flannels in the palace, but even with these barriers it was a cold Lux had never felt before. She and the Brigade had come from Demacia, the ocean-side kingdom in the west, where even in the winter the salt water was warm to the touch… how she longed to return.

With a deep breath, feeling the icy air chill her throat, she steeled herself. They would return someday, but dreaming would help no one. The Frost Temple was their fortress now, the only safe place they could hide from the Voidborn when the alien armies had invaded.

Lux reached up with shaking hands and pulled her light hair behind her ears so it couldn't impair her vision. Every morning, the beautiful young woman awoke and dressed herself in the Demacian armour she had left her home with, to remember who she was and what she was fighting for. She was proud to see that most of the Brigade did the same, including Quinn.

The woman next to her, a special member of the military just like herself, wore specialized armour, with a design made to match her proud Demacian eagle's plumage and topped with a spiked helmet. The sight of the young soldier without her winged companion was very strange, as though half of her had been stolen away. Without her eagle companion Valor, Quinn had been much quieter the past few days, and quite sullen. But as the soldier gazed out across the mountain peaks at the small form that was her eagle, she looked hopeful and content. Lux couldn't help but smile to herself; it was the same look her mother always had whenever she and Garen returned from their battles. Her mother, who was now dead.

She shook her head slightly, freeing her hair from behind her ears. Irritated, she pulled it out of her face once more and tucked it behind her ear forcefully. Try as she may to forget it, she could never let the memory of the Institute of War ablaze out of her mind. She could still see the Voidborn scuttling over man and yordle alike, killing senselessly as they went; she could still smell the smoke, hanging in the air like clouds. She could still hear the screams of the ones who'd been caught inside.

Lux had managed to flee with Garen and most of the Brigade. Shyvana, a half-dragon warrior and a sworn fighter for Demacia, had been left behind. She remembered the Champion's giant wings, stretched out ferociously as she had glided over the armies of Voidborn while setting them alight with her dragon fire. No one knew where she was now.

They'd returned to Demacia, to the capital where they knew they would be safe… but it wasn't long until the Voidborn followed them. It was the terrible traitor, Cho'Gath, who led the wave of Voidlings and Voidspawn into the city, crushing humans and buildings alike, spreading terror everywhere. They'd fought to the bitter end, and Lux would have died in battle if not for Xin Zhao, the King's own bodyguard. He had dragged her away from the fight and thrown her, ungracefully, into the moat surrounding the palace where she would not be found.

_Perhaps if he hadn't saved me,_ she thought, _the King would be here._

Valor was the one to find her, washed up on the shores of the Conqueror's Sea. There she was reunited with her brother Garen, Quinn, and the rest of the Brigade… including the King's son, Jarvan Lightshield the Fourth, heir to the throne of Demacia. And that was when they had fled to the Freljord, finding solace in the Frost Temple.

Lost in her thoughts, Lux hardly noticed that Valor and Galio were approaching rapidly. The flapping sound of giant wings broke her from her reverie, transporting her back to the frozen peaks in the Ironspike Mountain. She shook her head and looked up as the two Champions prepared to land.

With a loud shriek, Valor soared through the open arch of the window, blue feathers scattering wildly. Quinn laughed, loud and free, as the Demacian eagle landed on her arm, nuzzling its sharp golden beak against her neck. The creature was a beast of a bird, half as tall as a human on its feet but with a twenty foot wingspan. Lux couldn't help but giggle a little; it was good to see her friend smile again.

Galio, meanwhile, landed on the stone wall silently. Lux smiled at him as she walked over to greet him.

Lux had known very little about the great flying golem during her time in the League of Legends as a Champion, and all she knew of his past was through the yordle girl, Poppy. He'd been expertly crafted and brought to life by a dedicated Demacian mage who died under Galio's care; at his master's death, Galio remained stoic by the side of his master's corpse until Poppy met him on her way to Demacia. The creature was utterly loyal to the Kingdom and to House Lightshield with every fibre of his being.

Lux held out a hand to him. The golem didn't particularly enjoy contact of any form, but with her encouragement he was getting better. The creature was a foot or so taller than her, made of enchanted blue stones held together by extreme sorcery. Adorned with massive claws, a golden tail and giant bat-like wings, he was a fearsome creature… with a visage to match. Galio had the face of a gargoyle, all horns and sharp features with two bright red eyes, but Lux was not afraid of him.

Timidly, the flying golem rested its giant, clawed hand on top of Lux's.

"It's good to have you home, Galio," Lux said sweetly, grinning.

Galio removed his hand and hopped off the stone wall. "The Frozen Temple is not our home," he said in his low, sturdy voice. It sounded as though it belonged to the mountains themselves, archaic and heavy. "Demacia is our home, my lady."

Lux half-smiled. "Of course. Was the mission a success?"

Galio turned to her, his expression unreadable. Valor, on the other hand, stopped flapping his massive wings and horsing around with his companion; instead, he set his intense, dark eyes on her, with a far more human expression than Galio was capable of. Lux's smile faded. There could be no success for the mission they were on… only news.

"Perhaps we should assemble the Brigade, then," Quinn suggested, running a hand through Valor's plumage.

The small group descended the stone stairs that burrowed within the mountain itself. Though she was out of the wind, the stone walls still radiated an unforgiving chill. Lux pulled her furs around her tighter, then, remembering her companions, turned her head as they descended.

"Galio… are you cold at all?" she asked, curious.

To her surprise, Galio laughed, his big jaw clopping up and down. Lux and Quinn smiled slightly, both a little confused. "I am a golem, my lady," Galio answered once he was done. "I feel very little. Though your generosity is very welcome." Lux half-smiled again, still a little perplexed.

They made their way to the great hall, to her great dismay; she was hoping they would meet in the parlor, where a big fire would be blazing in the grate. Instead, the hall had big, empty arches for windows, like the watch tower, which cast dying light across the stone floor. Leading from the entrance to the large, rocky throne at the far end was an old, threadbare purple carpet, and that was the only decoration. Torches hung in the pillars between the arched windows, though they did nothing to warm up the room.

In the corner of the room was a small figure bent over on the floor, looking more like a sad lump of grey cloth than a human. The poor creature was scrubbing the stone floor with a big rag, a full, soapy bucket by her side. Lux frowned and strayed from the carpet, approaching the woman.

"Quinn, Galio, kindly bring the others in here, will you?" she asked, looking behind her. The two nodded and disappeared through a small doorway behind the throne.

Lux kneeled next to the young woman. She had dark skin, clean and soft, and a pretty face with big brown eyes, but something about her made one feel very pitiful. Several small blue gems had been embedded into her forehead, pressed in an upside-down teardrop shape between her eyes. Her hair was long and as white as snow, pulled back into the neck of her cloak and bound by a series of dark metal rings.

She looked into the servant's face. Avarosa was even younger than Lux was, probably not even of age, and entirely devoted to her job; without her, they may have died. When they'd heard of the Frozen Temple and travelled all the way through the freezing mountains, she accepted them in as guests of her master. She claimed she was waiting for her master to return, and was merely a servant whose job was to maintain the condition of the Temple in their absence. As to who, or what, her master was, no one was sure, and she would not tell.

Five years later, and Avarosa was still waiting.

"Didn't you wash these floors last week?" Lux asked her, trying to be friendly. Her voice didn't seem to faze the servant in the slightest. "I didn't think we were _that_ dirty…"

"This Temple is very sacred, my lady," Avarosa answered in her hushed, deep tone. In a way, Avarosa reminded Lux of the great Duchess of Ionia, Karma; she was so serene and sure of herself, poised and dignified even on her knees. Karma, of course, would never receive Lux's pity – she was far too strong for that. "The state of the Temple must reflect what we see in the Freljord," she continued.

Lux nodded slightly. She pressed her lips together as she watched the servant scrub at a particularly stubborn spot between two stone tiles in the floor.

"How can you be so certain your master is returning, Avarosa?" Lux asked her. "We've been here for five sun cycles, and you were waiting when we arrived… how can you be so confident that they'll come home?"

Avarosa stopped scrubbing with the rag, and started picking at the grime between the rocks with her nails. Even as she scratched and rubbed with her bare hands, she maintained her serene, stoic expression, as though she, like Galio, was carved of stone. _No,_ Lux thought, _of ice._

"I was gifted the name Avarosa when I arrived at this temple," the servant answered after a few moments. "Avarosa was once one of the three queens of the Freljord… she believed in peace. She believed in justice, strength and, most importantly, faith. When she led the assault against the Watchers, she believed in her army… and it was that trust that guided the Iceborn forward. It was that confidence that gave the Freljord back to the people." Avarosa smiled a little as she spoke. Whenever she smiled, she looked absolutely breathtaking… enough to knock even Lux away. "And so, I have faith in my master. They told me to wait until they return, and I will obey them." Finally, the speck of grime came off, and Avarosa wiped it off her finger with the rag. "Some things take time, my Lady. But no matter how long their mission will take them, my master will always come home."

The silence after Avarosa finished speaking left what felt like a hole within Lux's stomach. The girl was so profound, so wise beyond her years… it had been so long since she'd been blown away by mere words. It seemed to take a lot to move her much nowadays.

"You're very inspiring, Avarosa," Lux said with a small smile.

Avarosa turned to her, fixing her brown eyes on Lux's blue ones. "I am just fulfilling my duties, my lady," she answered simply.

The two stood up as footsteps could be heard through the door behind the throne. Avarosa carefully dusted off her shapeless grey shift, eyes shining in the gloom. Lux didn't understand how Avarosa wasn't cold in the darkening night; even with layers upon layers of furs and cloaks that the servant had lent Lux and the Brigade, they were all constantly quivering in the cold wind. Avarosa wore no shoes sported and bare forearms, but still looked as comfortable as one could be.

The sun had sunken behind the mountains, but still cast a streak of orange light across the sky, like a fire igniting the heavens. The Brigade emerged from the door behind the throne; first Quinn with Valor on her shoulder, followed by Galio, and then her brother Garen. After Garen came the yordle girl, Poppy, and finally the crown prince of Demacia.

Jarvan Lightshield the Fourth marched, with the confidence and air of a true monarch, to the throne. Instead of sitting down, however, he merely stood in front of it, arms crossed. Although Avarosa had given him permission to sit in it, he felt as though it was not his place to sit in a throne fit for the ruler of the Temple. This respect and consideration made Lux only admire him more.

The Brigade stood before the prince in a straight line. Lux took her place beside Garen and looked up, waiting for instructions, hands behind her back as she'd been trained in the military.

Jarvan was stunning, even in the twilight: he was tall and muscular (though not half as big as Garen), wearing his shining golden armour – every plate bore vicious spikes that prevented any enemies from coming anywhere close to him, and on his head was his signature helmet. It was spiked and crown-like, embedded with a single sapphire – the gem of Demacia. It still showed his face, revealing a visage cut up by scars but still more handsome than any man Lux had ever seen. His eyes glowed a bright blue, as incredible as the sapphire in his helmet, looking over the line of his guard with an expression Lux could not read.

"Welcome back, Galio and Valor," Jarvan said in his low, booming voice – a voice fit for a king. Yet he seemed impatient, almost frustrated, as he addressed Galio specifically, glaring down at the golem. "You've come back sooner than I had expected. I suspect you've found information of use to us?"

Lux frowned slightly. Before the invasion, Jarvan had never been this harsh – serious, yes, but never cold. He'd always spoken to all of his allies and even his enemies with respect and kindness. This Jarvan seemed as cold as the wind blowing through the great hall.

Galio stepped forward. "Yes, Your Majesty," the golem said in his solid voice. "However, we never did come even close to the Institute of War for our information. Instead, we came across a Voidborn camp staying in the Howling Marsh to the northwest of the institute… a Voidborn camp with humans."

Jarvan frowned. "Humans?"

"Yes, humans," Galio confirmed. "Overhearing their conversations, it seems as though the Voidborn has made an alliance with the remainders of the Noxian Army – a temporary one, at least. If my assessment of human interactions is worthy of any consideration, however, I will add that the Noxian Army generals seemed quite… tense, surrounded by the Voidborn."

"As I would expect," Jarvan said with contempt. "Of course Noxus would join the Voidborn… as soon as power shifts one way or another, they scramble to pick up any remaining control they can sink their claws into. What information did the camp bear?"

"This one camp seemed to speak very freely of their plans," Galio explained. "It seems many of the Voidborn generals have taken to the alcohol stocks they found in Noxus, and I suspect quite a few were intoxicated. They were in search of Jericho Swain, the old Grand General of Noxus; it seems Swain was not involved in the alliance between the Voidborn and the Noxian armies."

Jarvan frowned at the mention of his old rival. "Surprising… anything else?"

"They… mentioned that another camp was further north, already in the Freljord," Galio continued. "It seems many of the Voidborn do not take to the cold temperatures of the north, Your Majesty. However, they are in pursuit of Ashe, the Frost Archer, leader of the Avarosan Tribe."

Lux looked over at Avarosa, whose expression did not change. She had a suspicion that Ashe was the master Avarosa was waiting for, but judging from her reaction, it was not. Of course, little could be learned from Avarosa's expressions.

Jarvan nodded sternly. "May the Gods be on her side," he said. A moment of silence passed, and down the line of the Brigade it seemed a cold chill passed. Many of the soldiers looked down or away awkwardly, in harsh anticipation of what was to come. Everyone knew what the next question would be – after every expedition conducted by Galio or Valor, the same question would be asked. Lux feared she already knew the answer… everyone did. Except, perhaps, Jarvan.

"And what of my father, Jarvan Lightshield the Third?" Jarvan asked, a tone of finality in his voice. "Any news of his whereabouts?"

Lux expected Galio to decline, but the silence that followed caught her off guard. She felt like looking over at Galio to see his expression, but it would be far too obvious. After five long years of silence, had they finally discovered some knowledge of their King's whereabouts?

Galio finally opened his mouth. "Yes, I believe so, Your Majesty."

Before anyone could react, Jarvan's eyes lit up, glowing an even brighter blue, and he spoke. "What news? What did you hear?"

"I fear it may not be good news, Your Majesty."

The air hung around them, thick and heavy, almost palpable. It seemed the answer hung right in front of everyone, but nobody wanted to see it. No one wanted to admit the inevitable, for if they did, Jarvan would be lost… and if the crown prince was lost, they all were.

"The drunken Voidborn were… making jokes," Galio said slowly and carefully. "At first I was quite confused… I thought perhaps they were speaking of you, but it seems the Jarvan they were speaking of was your father, the King. They spoke quite crudely, which –"

"Galio, please," Jarvan said in a lighter tone, almost pleadingly. The hope in his voice made Lux's heart break a little. "What did they say?"

Galio did not wait to continue. Perhaps even the golem knew that the sooner the information was out, the better, and so he spoke with absolute abandon. "They suggested that the Voidborn subject Ashe to similar torture methods that they applied to the King," he said. "However, they added that it would be a waste, claiming that one royal death in Runeterra was enough."

Jarvan furrowed his brow. "What do you mean, Galio?" Lux could see the anticipation, the eagerness in Jarvan's handsome face.

"It seems they captured the King and tortured him to death, Your Majesty," Galio answered. "The Voidborn's methods of torture were far too extreme for your father's mortal body, and it seems he perished during their interrogation."

Lux looked down… she couldn't bear to see the look upon her prince's face. The atmosphere felt as though a pendulum had swung, shifting from apprehension to complete and utter shock. It was finally confirmed, the awful truth that they all knew… the King had died. Still, although Lux had felt she knew the King's fate, it came as a blow to her, cutting through her body like no wind, no blade could ever hope to do. She had grown up with the Lightshields, in the Royal Palace… he was like a father to her. Jarvan the Third was a father to every man, yordle and creature in the Kingdom of Demacia. The thought of him tortured to death, surrounded by Voidborn with no love and no light… was too much to bear.

"There was… one more piece of information we learned."

Jarvan did not reply. Lux didn't know what he was doing, what he was feeling, but she could feel his presence there, sturdy and eternal. The new King of Demacia.

"The Voidborn also took five captives, straight from the Institute of War."

As soon as Galio's voice faded, a strange noise echoed around the Temple: hollow, empty and menacing, like a blow from some peculiar Piltovian horn. For a moment, Lux thought it had come from Jarvan himself and she looked up, but the new King was looking around as well. His face was absolutely blank, devoid of emotion. The entire brigade spun their heads in the now-darkness of night, the flames from the torches illuminating their faces.

"What was that?" Poppy asked in her high-pitched voice. The little yordle soldier, dressed in her sturdy golden army, clutched her big spiked hammer closer. Even in fear, the blue-skinned girl looked adorable, her white hair pulled into big pigtails upon her hair. She wasn't even half of Garen's height.

"Over there," came Quinn's voice, ethereal and strange.

The marksman lifted her arm slowly, her finger pointing to the south. The entire brigade spun around behind them, towards the entrance, gazing out the arched windows. Almost no light came from that direction, and only the last echoes of sunlight carved the mountains from the pitch blackness.

And then, accompanied by a loud shriek from Valor, something appeared in the night sky. It was like a deep purple ring, echoing from the distance, steadily coming closer. Lux frowned… what possibly could that be? It crossed the sky, as though it were circling the globe, steadily and quickly, growing larger by the second. Beside her, Garen steadied himself, as though he were expecting to be hit directly by the wave.

"Magic?" Poppy questioned, her little voice tainted with fear.

"No," said a voice behind them. It was Avarosa, who stepped into line with the brigade, face turned to the south. The darkness around them was oppressive, thick and inky, with only the flames to guide them… they flickered ominously across the servant's face. "It's a message."

They watched in silence, standing and staring at the ring for what felt like an eternity. The darkness only got stronger, throwing strange shadows across the hall. Lux knew she should turn and comfort Jarvan, but something was happening, and good or bad it was something they had to witness.

Finally the wave grew closer and closer, and as it did they saw that it was not a ring in the sky, but a wall coming closer and closer to them, moulding around the mountains like air. In the darkness it was difficult to see, but through the wall everything seemed to have a dark purple tint, ominous and unearthly. The whole brigade stiffened, lowering down to prepare for impact… it was coming, and coming quickly, towards the Temple.

"Guard yourselves, soldiers," came Garen's voice, deep and reassuring. Knowing he was next to her gave Lux some peace, but it wasn't until she heard his voice that she realized how tense she was. She was petrified in place, horrified and in absolute wonder of the phenomena happening before her. She was a Champion of the League of Legends and she'd seen strange things, but this was a brand of magic she had never seen. The power necessary to generate such a spell was near incomprehensible.

The wall rushed towards them with a strange hissing noise until it was almost upon them, but the moment is hit the Temple, a resounding gong noise echoed through the Temple and the wall broke. Astounded, Lux watched the wall curve around the relic and continue past them on the outside of the arched windows, through to the north, as though the temple were protected by some invisible bubble. As Lux turned to her left to watch the wall recede, she realized that Avarosa, once more, was on her knees.

The servant girl's arms were limp by her sides, and her face was turned to the ceiling. Her dark eyes were now pale white, as though they'd spun around completely in their sockets. With a loud gasp, Lux fell next to her and grabbed her.

"Avarosa!" Lux called, panicked. The Brigade turned, and Garen got down next to his sister. "Avarosa, what's happening?!"

"There is a message," Avarosa stated. Lux's heartbeat slowed slightly at hearing the servant girl's steady voice, knowing she was still alive. She had been afraid that perhaps the spell had killed their host.

"I am going to relay it now," Avarosa continued.

The Brigade all gathered around… all except Jarvan. The King of Demacia continued to stare south, through the arches into the night sky. Lux was about to get up and go to him as Avarosa began to speak.

"Citizens of Runeterra," she spoke, her voice strange and echoing. Her regular tone sounded as though it were somehow duplicated and played back in real time, but octaves lower. In horror, Lux leaned away, terrified of her speech.

"I am Nul'Golagria, King of the Void, and I bring news for you," Avarosa continued.

Lux looked back to Jarvan. "Jarvan, please," Lux whispered. Jarvan did not move.

"We, the Voidborn, have commanded your realm for five sun cycles," Avarosa spoke. "Now, you may have your chance to join us. We are in search of the leaders of Runeterra, the figures you admire as kings, generals and politicians… King Jarvan Lightshield the Fourth of Demacia, General Jericho Swain of Noxus, the Duchess Karma of Ionia, and Princess Ashe of the Freljord."

"Jarvan, are you listening?" Lux begged. "Please, Jarvan."

"Any man, yordle or creature who brings forth one or more of these mortal men will face endless glory from the Void, and riches beyond your mortal imaginations. And so, every citizen of this realm is tasked with finding and bringing these men to us, directly to the Institute of War, located at the heart of Valoran."

"Jarvan…"

"However, there are consequences in store for those who refuse our requests – consequences doled out to your nations as one. Every moon cycle that these four are not recovered and brought into our possession, a thousand human and yordle lives we have secured will be brought to an end… along with one of our captives. Yes, here with us we have the great Champions of your League of Legends… Draven of Noxus, the Steam Golem Blitzcrank, Teemo of Bandle City, Janna Windforce… and Taric, the Gem Knight."

Lux's heart sank. Janna Windforce… Janna, the mage from Zaun, the beautiful wind spirit that had been one of her only friends at the Institute. Janna, her closest companion on the Fields of Justice. Lux felt ashamed to admit to herself that she had hardly thought of the girl… she'd always assumed that Janna was strong enough to take care of herself. But she was wrong, and now Janna was in the hands of the Voidborn. And for how long? How long had she been suffering? How many times had she wondered when Lux would come for her?

"To show our grave seriousness in this request, we will give you a demonstration of the retribution bestowed upon enemies of the Void."

Silence followed as the brigade all waited for Avarosa to continue… a minute passed in absolute silence, with nothing but the wind to tell them they could still hear. And then, once again, Avarosa spoke.

"Do you have any last words, Taric?"

A pit formed in Lux's throat.

"I know little of Runeterra," Avarosa continued speaking, but in a different tone. The playback was higher, calmer… and it reminded Lux of Taric himself. She imagined the weakened soldier, the brave Gem Knight, in the harsh claws of some twitching, mutated beast. Suddenly, the pit in Lux's throat began to rise, and the Lady of Luminosity herself, the Champion, the brave soldier of the Demacian Brigade, ran to one of the windows.

As she threw her head over the side of the stone temple and vomited, the contents of her stomach spewing into the abyss, she could still hear Taric's voice.

"But from what I have seen… you are a good, kind people. Please… protect one another… and… never give in to the Voidborn's requests."

The moment Taric's voice ended, Lux heard a loud thud... though it was nothing that came from within the Temple. It resounded from Avarosa's own mouth.

And then, the most horrible sound Lux had ever and would ever heard started to rise from Avarosa's throat, like an insect scrambling to escape. She covered her ears with her hands and shook her head to drown it out, but still it invaded her mind, pulsating through her skull as though it were her own thought. Finally she began to scream, matching the terrible wails that echoed inside of her head. She felt as though her skull was cracking, being forced in on from the outside… there was even a crackling and crunching sounding that accompanied it.

When finally the screams subsided, Lux collapsed to the ground, sobbing silently. She had vomited on herself, but she no longer cared.

"Terrors do await our enemies," Avarosa finished, in the same deep tone as before, "but glory awaits our allies. Choose wisely, citizens. You cannot escape the Void."

Lux awoke to her brother's face. Garen's head, square and large, hung over her, his jaw set and his green eyes flashing. She thought she could see tears on his face… tears? Garen never cried. She raised an arm to wipe them away as one of his giant hands scooped under her back to raise her.

As she got to her feet, she saw the terror that had occurred after the message. Valor lay on the floor, unconscious, wings spread wide; Quinn had deserted him and was crouched in the far corner, sobbing and wailing to herself, clawing at her helmet and bleeding from her hands. Poppy was lying on the carpet, screaming wildly and tearing at her face; Galio straddled her, trying to hold back her arms as she did. Avarosa was holding her forehead, fingers pressed to the gems set in her face. And Jarvan knelt, facing the throne, his head bowed.

"Don't stand up so soon, sister," Garen warned in his low voice.

"No," Lux sputtered. She could taste the vomit in her mouth, sharp and sour, the bile burning her lips still. Clumsily she threw the furs from her shoulders and stepped forwards slowly, Garen's hands always around her. She no longer felt the cold. Nothing had cut as deep within her as the message.

Avarosa looked up, her dark eyes shining in the darkness. They reflected the fire from the torches, and Lux thought she may have been crying as well. On nimble feet, the servant got to her feet, pulled a clean rag from the bucket, and came forward.

"My lady," Avarosa stammered. "I'm so sorry."

Breathing deeply, the Demacian soldier stepped forwards, past Avarosa. She felt the tears stream from her face and wiped them away with her limp hand. Nothing of her body seemed to work, but she had to speak to Jarvan… Jarvan, the King of Demacia, Jarvan, who would make everything alright.

Avarosa wiped the vomit and tears from Lux's face, and then Lux waved her off. Avarosa backed away, arms folded in around her body as if to protect herself from anything else. Garen led Lux steadily, but she felt his unease. Always putting her needs first.

Finally, Lux made it to the throne. She pushed away from Garen and collapsed onto the steps of the throne, exhausted. She raised her head to look up at the new King and found him looking down at her with his bright blue eyes.

"Jarvan…" Lux muttered.

Jarvan did not speak. He simply waited for her to continue, while the Lady battled with the vomit still rising within her. She forced it down, a fury within her so strong that tears came to her eyes. She had to speak. She had to do her duty.

"Jarvan… Janna…"

Jarvan's brow furrowed just a little bit, whether in confusion or disappointment she could not tell. But she simply raised her body with one arm and lifted the other one, resting the hand on his helmet where his cheek was.

"Jarvan… they killed Taric…"

"I know," Jarvan said in a broken voice. The deep, royal boom was gone, leaving him with the tone of a mortal man. It almost threw Lux back again, but she held herself steady; instead, her vision grew blurry and Jarvan's face disappeared into a watermark before her. The tears fell freely and quickly and she let them, not caring to wipe them away.

"We have to save them," she moaned.

Jarvan's face, blurry and invisible from her tears, did not change. And then, all too soon he stood and turned away.

Confused, Lux wiped the tears from her eyes and pushed herself to her feet, refusing to allow herself to fall. Her head only made it to Jarvan's chin, but she stood as close to him as she could as he faced the throne, unmoving and unemotional.

"We have to save them, Jarvan," Lux repeated, her voice a little stronger.

Jarvan did not move. The sounds of Poppy and Quinn's wailing filled her ears as the fires cast strange shadows across the new King's handsome face.

She waited another minute. She could already feel the heat rising into her cheeks, and she fought hard not to get angry… but it didn't work. He was their King now. He had to move. They had to do something.

"Jarvan, we have to –"

"I can't save anyone," Jarvan muttered.

Lux frowned, her brow furrowing further. "What do you –? Jarvan, they have Janna, and Teemo, and Blitz, and… Jarvan, Taric is dead. We have to go and save them… _listen to me!"_

Lux grabbed his arm and shook his as hard as she could, but it was no more effective than a light breeze. The King did not move, his gaze never shifting from the crude rocky throne.

"Xin Zhao couldn't save my father, the armies couldn't save my father, I couldn't save my father…" Jarvan continued, muttering more to himself than anyone. Lux felt as though he were a hundred miles away from her, and she hated it. The Jarvan she knew, the one she grew up with, was always with her, always in the moment. Right there, with her, ready to fix any problem even when no one else would.

"You had your people to protect," Garen spoke up from behind her. "There was nothing you could do, Jarvan."

"And where are they now?" Jarvan asked himself. Tears welled up in the king's eyes. "All I have left… are my soldiers. My people, my kingdom, is in the clutches of those… monsters… and my father is dead…"

"Jarvan, listen to me!" Lux moved around in front of him and put both hands on either side of his face. Still, he would not look at her. "Jarvan, we have to save them. We know where they are… we have to get them out of there, okay? Before another drop of Demacian blood is spilt… _are you listening to me?!"_

Jarvan just continued shaking his head, steady as a metronome. Lux felt more tears spring to her eyes.

_"__Please, speak to me, Jarvan!"_ Lux shouted. The howling of the rest of the Brigade rose, and she thought she could even hear Avarosa sniffle behind Garen. "Jarvan, we have no time to lose. Come on, we have to regroup and tomorrow we'll set out, alright?"

"No," Jarvan whispered.

Lux growled, so frustrated she wanted to rip his face off. "What do you mean, no?!"

"We can't leave," Jarvan answered her.

With an agitated shout, Lux pushed Jarvan's head and spun around to face the throne. Pacing in her rage, she felt fire run up through her veins. The true meaning of the Void King's words finally sunk in. Janna was there, and Lux was here, and there was nothing Jarvan would do.

"You're our king!" Lux shouted, turning back to him. Garen looked at her in shock. "You have to do something! We have to move out, as soon as possible, and get out allies out of there!"

"Lux, please…" Garen said quietly.

_"__No!"_ Lux hissed. "We have to get them out of there. We can't stay up in this frozen wasteland forever and hide! Come on, Jarvan!" Lux charged forward, her arms up, and swung at him. She only hit his helmet, and a shock of pain echoed down her arm. Jarvan blinked and looked down at her, but still it felt as though he were gazing right through her. Growling, she prepared to hit him again as Garen charged forward and stood between the two.

"Lux," Garen's voice was saying, soothing and calm, "Lux, calm down."

_"__You're a fucking coward, Jarvan!"_ Lux screamed over Garen's shoulder. He started to move forwards, pushing her towards the door behind the throne, but she continued to jump and snarl. Whenever she managed a glance at Jarvan, the King was still watching her… or looking through her.

Finally, Garen pushed her through the doorway. Lux's body gave out, exhausted and furious; her limbs ached and her head was throbbing as Garen scooped her up and carried her up the stairs. It was possible she passed out in his arms, or fell asleep, as the next time she became cognisant she was in her room, only illuminated by a single candle on her bedside.

No, not her room. A room in the temple.

Garen lay her down on her bed, but immediately she got to her feet. Her body was still sore and in pain, but the fire still pulsed through her veins, and the heat in her head was fading. She stood right in front of her brother, her head barely reaching his shoulders, chest to his. Garen flinched back at the fire in her eyes.

"How can you let him back down like that?" Lux demanded.

Garen opened his mouth, dumbfounded. "Lux… his father is dead. No drastic decisions can be made right now…"

"How can you just go along with him?!" Lux shouted. Garen flinched again, closing one eye. "How is this even a question?! We should be leaving right now! We have to rescue them!"

"Lux, be reasonable!" Garen countered. "If we walk right up to the gates of the Institute, you can bet they'll take us all. We can't fight an entire Voidborn army. Don't be a fool, Lux."

"You're a coward, Garen," Lux hissed. Her voice was quiet but burning with anger, like the cinders beneath a fading fire. "The Garen and the Jarvan I knew would risk everything, even their own lives, to rescue their friends."

She crossed the room, pushing past him, towards her staff. The golden, twisting rod glowed in the darkened room as she approached it, as if it were calling to her. She'd had enough shadows, enough tears for one night. As she placed her hand upon the staff, it flashed brightly, throwing light across the room; in the pure white light, Lux could see a million colours, curving and cutting in the air.

She turned slowly back to her brother, who was squinting in the face of such light. Surrounded by the element she had been trained in, cloaked in its radiance, she no longer felt the cold of the stones. The aching of her bones and muscles faded to nothing, and the heat receded until all that was left was clarity.

Jarvan wouldn't save them. Garen wouldn't, either. But she would.

"I'm leaving," Lux said to Garen in a voice full of conviction, "and I'm leaving now."

"No, Lux," Garen reasoned, his eyes wide with fear. "At least wait until the morning… maybe Jarvan will change his mind!"

"Jarvan won't move," Lux stated, looking out the dark window. The mountains beyond were cloaked in shadow… and that had to be fixed. She turned her eyes back to Garen. "And neither will you. But I'm not letting my friend rot away in the clutches of the Voidborn. Goodbye, Garen."

Garen rushed forwards, arms out, as Janna closed her eyes… and in a flash of light, she was gone. Lux disappeared into thin air… and with her, the light left, leaving Garen in the shadows of the cold, ancient temple.


	5. Ancestry

Below the Ironspike Mountains, in a valley sheltered from the harsh winds of the Freljord, a camp was set, stretched across the rolling hills like a carpet. It was only autumn, but already the air was getting more and more chilled, encasing the nomadic tribe like ice. The people roamed the streets, draped in heavy furs and warm fabrics, looking into the twilit sky wistfully. They were all very far from home, and winter was coming as quickly as nightfall; many would die if they did not find permanent residence soon.

In the centre of the makeshift village was a tall stone tower. It was no great beauty, roughly forged centuries ago to serve as a watchtower, but amongst the sprawl of tents, huts and makeshift cabins, it looked like an impenetrable fortress. A giant bell, no doubt once used to warn surrounding villages of a barbarian raid or ambush, hung at the top of the spire, cold and rusted.

Within the tower, the leaders and elders of the Avarosan tribe had taken up temporary residence. True, the walls emanated a harsh chill that cut through their flesh deep in the night, but it protected them from the winds and the occasional beasts that came with night. It was also used as a court each day at sunrise and sunset, where the people of the tribe could come forth and ask for justice from the Queen of the Freljord herself.

"My lady… I come with complaints against the barbarians."

Ashe clenched her jaw and fought the urge to roll her eyes. The council had set up a semi-circle of old stone chairs at the end of the hall with one in the middle; Ashe sat directly across from whomever came forth with a complaint or demand. If they wanted to be heard, they would have to voice their opinions whilst looking directly into the Queen's frosty blue eyes, a challenge that many shied away from. Behind her she heard a low grunt, half irritation and half amusement. During the day's proceedings, her husband Tryndamere had been pacing behind the council, dragging around his massive blade. True, he held the title of King of the Freljord, but no title or expectation placed upon him could wash off the Barbarian King that he once had so proudly been. Earlier she had felt it was her duty to ask him to leave his sword behind in their personal chambers, but she had done so without much conviction; she liked his wildness, and it flattered her to know he was as dedicated to protecting her as he was.

Ashe smirked, her eyes not leaving the pompous, flustered face of the man seating before her. "A daring act in the presence of the King of the Freljord."

"Yes, well, some things must be said," the man responded, his chin held high. The man was a member of a very high-standing family in the Avarosan tribe, something that he clearly flaunted before him. Despite his pretentious ruse, however, Ashe could tell he was clearly frightened by the presence of her daunting, lurking husband.

"And what would this complaint be, sir?" Ashe asked.

The man sighed, and crossed his arms. "It's just… the barbarians… they walk the streets, night and day, drunk as skunks and wielding their big, gruesome weapons. It's… frightening the people, my lady. Very uncivilized."

"I believe it's "Your Highness" to you, south blood," Tryndamere growled. Over her shoulder she could see his big, square jaw jutting out. His beard, wild and dark, hadn't been trimmed since they'd left the Capital, something he was undoubtedly proud of; his dark hair was wild and long, hanging across his broad shoulders like a curtain.

The man's façade dropped for a moment as he looked up, terrified, at the King. "Y-Yes, Your Highness," the man stuttered, looking down very suddenly at his leather leggings. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Tryndamere smile at her, even flashing his teeth a little in mockery. Ashe allowed the corner of her mouth to raise slightly in response.

"Have any of the barbarians committed any act of harm upon you, or anyone else you know of?" Ashe asked lazily, folding her hands in her lap.

The nobleman looked up, a little confused. "Well… not _physically_, I suppose…" he rambled, his eyes darting around shamefully.

"Have any of the barbarians _threatened_ to commit any act of harm upon you, or anyone else you know of?" Ashe asked again in a monotonous voice, glaring at him with an unimpressed expression on her lovely features. The moment their eyes met, the nobleman looked startled.

"…No, Your Majesty, no they have not," he finally conceded, shoulders slouching.

Ashe sighed and crossed one smooth, slender leg over the other. "Are you aware that every night, these 'barbarians' you complain of take shifts in this very watchtower to keep an eye out for ambushes and night raids?"

The nobleman shook his head. "No, I was not –"

"And are you aware that over three quarters of our food sources during this exodus have been collected by the barbarians, despite the fact that they are only a third as large in number compared to the Avarosan guards?"

"…No."

"When I married the King, the barbarian tribes of the Freljord became one with the Avarosans," Ashe began, leaning forward. The man had his head hung slightly, seemingly staring at a point on the floor with a look of irritation. "These people have been nothing but grateful to us for our generosity, and in return they have – _look at me."_

Her words cut into him like a blade, and his head shot up. The air seemed to stop its movement around them as her eyes bore into his head like daggers. Even Tryndamere stepped back quietly, intimidated by his wife's passion.

A few moments passed before she spoke once more, giving time for the dread to spread through the man's body. "In return, the barbarians have provided us with their skills – among those their adeptness at hunting and their adequacy in battle. They have shown us their use a hundred times over… something I can hardly say about your noble house, sir."

Ashe leaned back in her chair. To her left there came a quiet chuckle, accompanied by a low guffaw. Her two closest members of her High Council, Nunu and Braum, sat directly beside her. The juxtaposition between the two was quite comical, and to see them both seated in the same stone chairs brought Ashe a flicker of joy; both had fought in the League of Legends with her as Champions, representing the Avarosans and – more importantly – the Freljord as a whole.

Braum fit every stereotype of the warrior. He was giant and rippling with smooth, hard muscles; he rarely wore a shirt, bearing his big, barreled chest. Like many men of the Freljord, Braum had very little body hair, and he was completely bald, but his face was adorned with two bushy eyebrows and an even bushier moustache. The man had deep blue markings tattooed across his skin, a line for every life he had ever saved. There were over a hundred across his body.

Nunu, on the other hand, was the complete opposite. When he had joined the League of Legends, he had been just a child of eight years old, and before that he had come to Ashe to seek safety from the Frostguard tribe with his yeti companion, Willump. The boy was still small for his age at thirteen years old, and wore a full fur parka that covered his entire body, save for his small, clever face. Ashe suspected he was not a true child of the Freljord, as the cold seemed to come much harsher to him than it did her people.

Braum raised a large hand and shrugged. "I believe there is no need for the Council to discuss," he said in his thick accent, accumulated from years living up in the very northern corner of the Freljord. "Your prejudice is not our concern, sir."

"Well said, Braum," Ashe agreed. "But thank you for your time, sir."

The man, embarrassed and a little afraid, got up muttering to himself and scuttled out of the tower. Near the door stood her closest handmaiden, a pretty young Avarosan woman called Harra. She held the door open for the man, and looked up at Ashe expectantly. Instead of welcoming in another citizen with a complaint, Ashe merely waved her hand at Harra as she stood and turned.

"The Council is dismissed," Ashe said in a sharp voice, her white cape trailing behind her.

"But Your Majesty," an elder called after her in his shaky voice, "we have many complaints to attend to…"

"Then attend to them, if you wish," Ashe called out, her eyes focused ahead of her. "I need a break. Kindly excuse me."

She heard their mutters behind her as she climbed the steps behind the Council's set up. As she did, she relaxed her posture and allowed herself to slouch a little, dragging her feet. She was absolutely exhausted.

The Queen of the Freljord clambered to the top of the tower, where big, empty windows gave her a full view of the camp. Looking out, she couldn't help but feel a sense of despair.

The first ruler in all the history of the Freljord to abandon the capital, Rakelstake. Just a few weeks prior, when the scouts reported that they'd spotted a Voidborn camp only a few miles away from the city, Ashe made an announcement to her people and declared that they would depart. In one huge mass exodus, they walked for a full week and managed to set up a temporary residence in the snowy valley below the mountains. It was uncomfortable and colder than Rakelstake, and Ashe wasn't even sure if it was enough distance from the Voidborn. Besides, it was bordering the Winter's Claw territory, and a run-in with their armies could be as fatal as meeting the Voidborn.

And now she was even more afraid. Just three moons ago, she had stood in the very same position, gazing south just after nightfall. As the council had finished their hearings for the day, a strange noise had echoed from the mountains; Ryze, the rogue mage that they'd taken with them when they'd fled from the Institute of War, flew into a frenzy. Normally, the strange, tattooed man was very eloquent and calm, but they could not get a word from him. Instead, he'd torn up to the top of the tower and chanted wildly, casting spells left and right.

Ashe had feared that the strange beams of purple light he was tossing across the valley were perhaps dangerous, or at the very least would draw the Voidborn towards them, but even when Tryndamere had tried to restrain him the mage simply continued his duty. All they could do was watch.

And then the wall, the magical wave of purple magic, crashed over the mountains and towards the valley. Ashe could still hear the screams of the men and women who looked up to see the strange phenomena press against them from the sky… but all thanks to Ryze, it never reached them. Instead it soared over the camp, diverted by Ryze's powerful magic.

Ryze, the mage, was less fortunate. He experienced the message, or the vision, that had been sent across the land of Runeterra full-force, and managed to convey it back to the listening ears of Ashe and Tryndamere. The Void King, the terrible leader of the Voidborn, was waiting in Icathia, and demanded Ashe's capture, or else a thousand human and yordle lives would be extinguished. The Champion Taric was killed as an example.

Ashe bowed her head. A pang of sadness hit her, as hard and real as though a hammer had smashed her ribcage in, and she let out a sharp breath of air. The Queen of the Freljord, the Frost Archer, the Champion of the North in the League of Legends, had no idea what to do with herself.

Lost in her thoughts, she nearly screamed as she felt herself lifted into the air quite suddenly. Even as she heard the joking groans of her husband behind her, she forced herself to relax and ignore the warlike instincts embedded into her body while she was spun around in circles. Tryndamere's stealth was something to be greatly admired, or perhaps she had simply been too lost in her own thoughts to hear him come up behind her. The view from the windows blurred together into a long, jumbled mess of white and green as she spun.

"Oy, you're getting heavy!" Tryndamere moaned as he set her down. Ashe turned to look up at him as he grabbed his back, his face contorted in mock-pain. "You should lay off the snowcakes, don't you think?"

Ashe couldn't help but smile. She lifted a hand and placed it against her husband's scarred, but handsome face. His skin was quite dark, especially when she held her snow-white hand against it. Her husband's expression softened as he looked into her eyes. His were sharp, slanted and an olive green colour – very common amongst barbarians, she'd found – but still, they were the most beautiful she'd ever seen.

She looked down at his bare chest, the top of her head barely levelling with his collarbones. "You should be wearing more, Tryn," she said, slapping a hand against his pectoral. The Barbarian King scowled, playing as though she'd hurt him.

"No wind would dare chill the bones of the most ferocious warrior to ever live," Tryndamere boasted. Ever since they'd received the message, he'd been acting less and less serious. She suspected it was just to cheer her up, but her husband was surprisingly very difficult to read. All barbarians were quite adept at deceit.

Ashe smiled wanly, then turned back to continue gazing out the window. She had a lot of decisions to make, and they were ones she would have to make alone. If she ever tried to voice her ideas to Tryndamere, he would only make sure it was harder for her to leave if she wanted to. Even now, she noticed that she could scarcely go anywhere in the camp without a small entourage of barbarians following her.

It wasn't of malicious intent. Her husband simply would never, ever let her give herself in to the Voidborn, no matter how many lives were lost if she didn't. And he knew the woman she was, and the leader she'd been raised to be: putting herself below her subjects wasn't difficult. Even now, the thought of handing herself in played heavily through her mind.

His big, strong arms wrapped around her, carefully and sweetly. His hands ran down her bare arms, sending a shiver up her spine that had nothing to do with the cold. Gently he rest his chin upon the top of her head, and together they gazed out at the setting sun.

"I'll never let them hurt you," Tryndamere said to her, a quiet promise. "Never."

His deep, scratchy voice made Ashe smile. "I'm perfectly capable of taking care of myself, Tryndamere. That's not what I'm worried about."

He adjusted himself a little, switching from one foot to another. He never really could stay in one place very long. "Then tell me what you do worry for."

Ashe sighed and rested her hands on the cold stone windowsill, bending over slightly; unbeknownst to her, Tryndamere swallowed hard as she rubbed against him. The Queen shook her head gently.

"I used to think the Avarosan were in danger," she said, part to her husband and part to herself. "We had not only Sejuani and the Winter Claws to worry about, but also Lissandra and the Frostguard… what I would give to go back to those times." She bent her head down and stretched her neck around in a circle. "Anivia had told me that the Voidborn couldn't stand the cold… I thought the Freljord would be safe for us. But now it seems their pursuit of power in our realm has overshadowed their preferences."

Whenever she thought of Anivia, another stab of pain rushed through her. The great ice bird, the very spirit of the Freljord, a being who had been in the north since the days of the Three Sisters… and one of her closest allies and confidantes. The ice bird had left her five years ago and never returned.

"Well, when they come, we'll just have to put up a damn good fight," Tryndamere reasoned. He rested a hand larger than her face on her shoulder and gently pulled her around until they once again were looking into each other's eyes. He rested his other hand on her cheek. "That is the Avarosan way, isn't it?"

Ashe grinned. The simple, war-centric way of the Freljord barbarians was primitive, but through her husband she had discovered that sometimes that was only way to solve her problems. As long as she had Tryndamere, Nunu, Braum and Ryze by her side, four legendary warriors renowned across Runeterra, she would never take anything less than the upper hand.

"Incoming," a deep, lively voice echoed from inside her skull.

Ashe frowned as Tryndamere took his hand from her face and growled like a dog. Ryze, the scholar-mage warrior, never seemed to quite be in the moment and would never listen to Ashe's requests concerning telepathic communications. He would always warn her before he would teleport to her, a step she wished he would skip.

Beside them, a purple bubble grew from thin air. It grew large enough to encase a human form until it popped with a cheerful sound. Ryze appeared from within and immediately hurried to the windowsill, muttering to himself.

Never in a millennia did Ashe think she would ever be allies with the strange magician when they'd fought in the League of Legends together, but when the Voidborn stormed into their realm, alliances stretched. The man somewhat amused Ashe; he was one of the few practitioners in Runeterra of thorn magic, a specific brand of witchcraft that had dyed every inch of his skin a deep, royal blue. Strange runes and shapes were branded into his skin with purple ink that glowed at times, especially whenever he used magic. Though the rogue usually wore only pants with no shirt, he wore a burlap poncho lined with fur over his torso; Ashe was under the impression he'd still been recovering from all the effort it took to protect the camp from the message as well as the toll the message itself had taken on him.

"Ryze," Ashe said calmly, turning towards him as he whipped by her. "Lovely to see you looking so well."

As usual, Ryze held a huge tome under his arm, its leather and steel binding as tight as ever with old, feeble pages. Strapped to his back was the strange scroll that he was never without, the contents of which Ashe was not privy to.

"There's an ambush," Ryze hissed, just loudly enough for Ashe to hear.

All of the entertainment that had come with Ryze disappeared, and a pit sank within Ashe's stomach. This was it. The Voidborn had finally come.

Ashe took a deep breath. Immediately, her strategic mind started to develop a plan. "Alright… Tryndamere, send the barbarian armies to the south to guard the camp, while –"

"Mmm… not from the south," Ryze murmured, dashing across to the other side of the tower. "From the north."

Her brow furrowed. From the north? But the camp had been set up just below the Freljord…

And then her heart sank a little lower. The only ambushes that would dare encroach upon their camp from the north would have come from either Sejuani's or Lissandra's clan, and Ashe thought it was most likely the former. A spark of irritation lit inside of her. If this was another stupid move of Sejuani's to start a war with Ashe, she would personally travel to the Winter's Claw camp and stick an arrow down the woman's throat. Now was not the time to fight one another.

"How many?" Tryndamere huffed, grabbing his long, jagged great sword from its place resting upon the wall.

"I… believe there are five," Ryze answered, his voice as calm as though he were talking of the weather. "They do not come in peace. They have full intentions to fight, and fight us, right here, specifically."

Ashe really did roll her eyes. Queen she may be, but she was still only twenty three years old, and not all of her rebellious youth had washed away during her coronation. "What could they possibly hope to achieve with only five men…? Are they Sejuani's, or Lissandra's?"

"I can't tell," Ryze answered, still distracted. "I can't see them. But they're coming very close to the edge of the camp. They have no intentions of harming innocents."

"Doesn't sound much like Sejuani's _or_ Lissandra's men," Ashe muttered to herself in irritation, crossing over to the stairway. "Very well. If my audience is what they want, then my audience they will get."

"Oh no they won't," Tryndamere growled. He spun quickly and pushed Ashe backwards with the flat of his blade. She took a step backwards, then glared at him in irritation. "You're staying right here," he told her, his expression half threatening, half worried.

Ashe rested her hand upon the sharp end of the blade and pressed down. Not wishing to harm his wife, Tryndamere dropped his sword. "I am the Queen of the Freljord, not some southern princess," Ashe told him in a warning tone. "I fight for myself."

She stepped over his blade lightly, her cape flowing over it elegantly. As she descended the stairs, she lifted the hood, allowing her white hair to hang over her shoulders. The dress and boots she wore, all cut from the finest cloth in the Freljord, were not preferable for a fight, but if she were up against five foolish men from the Winter's Claw then it wouldn't be much of a hassle. Her short white skirts danced around her thighs as she trotted down the steps.

The room was empty, save for Harra. The handmaiden was busy dragging the stone chairs back into the corner, but in all the time since the Council had been dismissed she'd only managed to move two. Ashe couldn't help but laugh a little.

Harra smiled shyly as Ashe approached. "I'm sorry, my lady," Harra muttered. "They're quite heavy."

"I can get one of the barbarians to do this, Harra," Ashe said. "In the meantime, kindly fetch me my bow from my quarters, will you?"

Harra froze in place, a look of uncertainty on her face. "Your bow? What for?" Then, remembering her place, she bowed her head respectfully. "If I may ask, Your Majesty."

Ashe smiled. "We have a few guests from out of town. I'd like to give them a proper Freljordian welcome."

Harra looked up, panic in her eyes. "But… my lady, are you sure you should be –"

Ashe groaned. "Why does no one think I can protect myself?"

"It's not that," Harra whispered. "I meant…"

As the handmaiden trailed off, Ashe's playful grin faded. The Queen looked down at the floors for a moment, her eyes trailing the individual stones for a moment while the handmaiden watched expectantly. The playful air disappeared, trailing away slowly into the night. Harra watched Ashe's face silently, concern etched into every feature.

"Please get me my bow, Harra," Ashe asked quietly after a few moments.

The handmaiden bowed her head and scurried up the stairs. Ashe waited there in silence until the sound of voices could be heard.

"I would love to see them face the Heart of the Freljord!" Braum's thick voice boomed. Tryndamere appeared first, wearing his traditional armour and wielding his great sword. The armour was thick and sturdy, made of heavy iron and embedded with precious stones harvested from the Ironspike Mountains. It only covered his bad shoulder and his thick wrists, with a matching, double-horned helmet to match. Tryndamere marched towards his wife, a scowl on his face.

Braum, on the other hand, looked cheerful. The big warrior wore his large belt, adorned with a big blue stone that bore a ram's head. With him he carried his shield of true ice. Ashe looked upon the creation with wonder – she knew it had originally been created by the ice witch Lissandra as an impenetrable door, but it truly was a work of art. A ram's head was carved from the front, with glowing blue eyes.

Ashe grinned, trying to hide her solemnness. "Can someone please tell me why no men in the Freljord are content with wearing shirts?" she teased, resting a hand on Tryndamere's bare chest.

Her husband smirked. "Funny. And you thought Ryze wouldn't fit in."

On cue, the blue mage swept down the stairs, closely followed by Harra. The handmaiden held in her hands a thick sheath made of toughened leather, roughly in the shape of a large crescent. Harra rushed towards Ashe and bowed to one knee, holding the sheath above her with her head bowed.

Ashe laughed openly at the sentiment and took the sheath. "Harra, there's no need for those kind of formalities."

Harra nodded, her face stoic as ever. "Yes, my Queen."

Ashe knew the look on the girl's face, and it irritated her. Trying to ignore it, she slipped the leather covering off her weapon.

The creation was also made of true ice as well: a simple, curved longbow, crafted entirely of the never-melting substance only harnessed by the mages of old. It had been made for Avarosa, the Queen of the Freljord centuries ago, the sister that she herself had descended from. She gripped it with her bare hand, feeling the frost freeze onto her skin, and a string stretched from one end to another, generated from the air itself. Ashe grinned, tossing aside the leather sheath.

"Now, let's see that these men are greeted," she said to the small group.

Ashe, Tryndamere, Ryze and Braum walked towards the big gates of the tower. "Nunu is getting the yeti from their chambers," Braum said, his cheerful lilt still in full gear. "I highly doubt we will need their participation. It will only take a few seconds to disband this group of hooligans, even if they manage to get past the barbarians."

"Which they won't," Tryndamere growled, "or they'll have to pay for it."

Ashe pushed open the doors easily. The streets were quiet, and the sky above them stretched endlessly, dark and still. Stars twinkled above them, as though they too were trying to shake off the bitter cold of the north. Ashe did not feel the wind.

Nunu had fetched Willump, his companion, and had already clambered onto the massive yeti's back. The northern creature, whose kind was thought to have been extinct for decades, towered over Tryndamere, covered entirely in thick, white hair. It had the face of an ape, with big, bloodshot eyes and sharp fangs. The creature sat on its hind legs, with its oversized arms holding the ground before him for balance. Tryndamere gave the creature a look of disdain; he loathed anything larger and stronger than him.

The group of five waited, standing in the street, for what felt like an hour. Tryndamere was growing restless, bouncing from foot to foot. Braum was leaning on his shield, cleaning out his ear with his little finger. Even Ashe was growing irritated.

"I hope the barbarians didn't delay all of them," Ashe sighed. "I was kind of looking forward to a good fight."

As soon as her sentence ended, the loud whinny of an agitated horse rose up before them in the distance. Immediately, the fight crouched down, prepared for battle as the sounds of hooves grew louder and louder, accompanied by the roars of battle and steel on steel. Ashe grinned to herself.

A group of five men on horses tore around the corner of the long street, galloping towards them. Barbarians were running alongside them, recklessly heaving their battleaxes and hammers at them, yelling all the while. The men on horseback deflected their blows expertly with their comparatively thin great swords.

Ashe narrowed her eyes. The horses were of mixed breeds, and the men wore long cloaks fashioned of varying pelts. One man's hood had fallen off, revealing a shaggy tangle of pure white hair, much like Ashe's. They was undoubtedly men from the Winter's Claw, albeit very young ones. None of them even had beards.

Ashe lifted her bow and aimed it towards them. Her four companions backed away as she lifted her other arm, elbow held high, hand to her cheek, with the string in between her fingers. As she pulled the string further and further away from the bow, an arrow, formed entirely of ice, crystalized into shape from the air itself, nocked into the string and resting against the bow. She held the bowstring taught as the horses galloped closer and closer, until she was certain she had a perfect shot.

She released the arrow. The icy formation shot towards the man in the front like a bullet, but instead of catching him, it hit the horse he rode on. With a loud whinny, the horse kicked up and knocked its rider off, trying to dislodge the icy arrow embedded in its chest. As soon as the rider fell to the street, the barbarians crashed onto him like a wave, piling on top of one another viciously.

The four others approached closer and closer, somewhat startled and unseated by Ashe's sudden attack. One unsuspecting horse ran right towards Tryndamere, who held his sword behind him and swung it with expert timing. The blade cut right through the horse's four legs, and the creature's body flew through the air, dislodging its wailing rider. Willump the yeti caught the man in midair, gripped him with its sharp claws, and then pounded the man into the icy ground.

Another horse was charging straight for Braum, the rider swinging his great sword in circles. Braum rested the flat bottom of his shield against the dirt street, and from the eyes of the ram shards of ice propelled forward through the air. As the horse bucked up to avoid the shards, the man expertly leapt off his steed and ran toward Braum, sword up. The Freljord warrior simply swung aside his shield and landed an expert kick right in the man's sternum, knocking the man off of his feet. Braum chuckled to himself, watching the man groan on the ground.

Ryze pulled the tome from under his arm and tossed it into the air. It glowed with a purple light as it hung, suspended in the air before him, while the mage twirled his hands around expertly as though he were engaged in a strange, elaborate dance. One hand pushed upwards, and the rider of one of the horses lifted into the air, while his other hand pushed forwards, and the steed was thrown onto its side. Ryze then forced his hand down, tossing the man back to the ground, and twirled both hands together. A purple, magic cage formed around the rider, and on the ground the man stayed, unconscious.

The last rider charged directly towards Ashe. All of her allies gripped their weapons tightly, preparing for a fight, but Ashe simply raised her bow, calmly and slowly. She fixed her blue eyes onto the dark ones of the man riding towards her as an arrow materialized in her hand. In his eyes, she could see one thing: fear. The man and his steed slowed down until they were just a foot from Ashe, and her arrow was all but resting against his forehead.

They stayed in this delicate position for a long while, the rest of the champions all watching with amazed curiosity. Finally, Ashe smirked. "Welcome to the Avarosan camp," she said to the rider. "We're glad you could visit."

Tryndamere grabbed the man by his neck with a thick, giant hand and lifted him clean off of his horse. The man wailed, his feet kicking wildly in the air; he was small, probably not even an adult yet. Tryndamere threw him to the ground, and the rider collapsed at Ashe's feet.

"Please," the rider groaned. "Kill me, please…"

The barbarians were approaching, holding the rider that they'd tackled. They looked irritated and somewhat ashamed at their failure to stop the riders before they came into the camp, and avoided Tryndamere's disappointed gaze by looking down. The rider they held up was bruised and bleeding, and missing more than a few teeth.

"Take these men into the tower," Ashe told them. "Bind them to the chairs. I have some questions I would like to ask of them."

Ashe stood before them, her arms crossed. Harra stood in the corner, the Avarosan bow back in its leather sheath. "So allow me to summarize what you've said," she said, squinting her eyes as she peered down at their assailants. Only two of the five riders were conscious to answer her, but they seemed to have more than enough information. "Instead of die at the hands of your own kind, you decided a suicide mission to capture me, the most powerful warrior of the Avarosan, would be a more fitting end?"

The boy directly in front of her nodded. He couldn't have been any older than sixteen. His skin was dark and heavily scarred, distorting most of his features, but his hair was a shock of pure, snow white. Despite the fact that they'd just attempted to capture her, she felt a certain kinship with the boy; white hair on a Freljordian could only mean they'd been caught in a terrible snowstorm that had stripped away their pigment, and Ashe was no exception. Few other Avarosans had to face the terrible conditions of the deep north, as Rakelstake was in the southern regions of the Freljord, but a great many warriors of the Winter's Claw sported the strange phenomena.

"Our families would have killed us," the boy said in a hoarse voice. He looked down at the stone floor of the tower, ashamed and blushing. "We were too weak to fight in the armies… and the Winter's Claw only wants strong, useful fighters. So we thought, if we brought… you… to Sejuani, she would spare us."

Ashe nodded, biting her lip. "Are you saying Sejuani stills wants me captured?"

"Yes," the boy answered. "They'd been planning a raid that they'd execute in a fortnight. The scouts have been keeping an eye on this camp ever since you got here."

For what felt like the millionth time that day, Ashe sighed. She rubbed her temples with her fingers, absolutely beyond irritated. "Does that woman not realize that there are greater enemies we must face?!" Ashe growled, mostly to herself. "The Voidborn are right on our tails, and we haven't heard anything of the Frostguard in five long years. It's not like Lissandra to keep this quiet for so long. If anything, joining together now would be more beneficial than ever."

Tryndamere, Braum, Ryze, Willump and Nunu all stood behind her silently. She glanced over at them, making eye contact with each of them one by one. Finally, her eyes fixed onto Tryndamere's. The Barbarian King's olive eyes seemed to sparkle in the firelight from the torches; he'd enjoyed the small taste of battle, and judging by his swing, he'd lost none of his skill over the long five years of relative peace.

Ashe turned back to the young man. "I am not going to kill you," she told him firmly.

The boy looked up. "If you don't, Sejuani will," he croaked weakly. "I'd rather die by your hands, Frost Archer."

Ashe shook her head. "You aren't going to die, at least not yet. Because your mission will be a success."

Behind her, she could practically feel the confusion in her allies. The boy frowned and tilted his head.

"I am going to come with you to the Winter's Claw camp," Ashe explained.

"What?!" Tryndamere growled. He stomped up to her side and looked down at her, his brow furrowed.

"We can't hope to fight all of the Voidborn on our own," Ashe said to him, gazing up into his face calmly. "The Winter's Claw are a clan of warriors, and Sejuani is the greatest of them all. We need to make an alliance, even just a temporary one, until we can eradicate the threat."

"The Winter's Claw will never cooperate," Braum said, stepping forward. "Sejuani is stubborn and will never accept you as Queen of the Freljord, Voidborn or no."

"I don't expect her to," Ashe said simply. "I don't care what Sejuani or her clan thinks of us. I am the descendant of Avarosa, and she is the descendant of Serylda… no matter what our ancestor's quarrel was over, they were both dedicated to protecting the north. And that is what we'll need to do." Avarosa turned to look at Harra. "At dawn tomorrow we will set out," she said to the handmaiden. "Please have my horse ready by then, and make sure these men have steeds as well."

Ashe swept around the line of Winter's Claw captives, ignoring the startled, shocked look on the boy's face.

"I will never let you walk into the hands of Sejuani," Tryndamere shouted, stomping after her. He grabbed her arm and spun her around, gripping her tight.

"This… may not be a terrible idea," Ryze said in his intellectual voice. Tryndamere spun around, incredulous. Ryze was scratching his goatee, deep in thought, the tome resting under his arm once more. "The Avarosans need to travel deeper into the north, and we cannot do so without entering the Winter's Claw territory. An alliance could be our only hope; if we stay here, our rate of survival is quite low, I believe."

"You've got to be fucking kidding me," Tryndamere growled under his breath.

"Ryze, you will come with me and my husband to speak with Sejuani," Ashe declared. Tryndamere turned back to her, his brow still furrowed; he would never let her go alone, but if he were to accompany her, he would undoubtedly cooperate easier. "We will take a troupe of ten barbarian guards. In the meantime, Braum, Nunu and Willump will stay at the camp with Harra and watch over the camp until our return."

Braum nodded, his lips pressed tightly together. She could not read the Freljordian warrior's expression, but she thought she could sense his doubt and uncertainty. "I will always protect the people of the Freljord," Braum told her in his thick accent.

_If only he knew the true danger I was placing him in,_ she thought regretfully. _If the Voidborn choose to strike while we are gone, they will destroy the camp until they find me. Human lives mean nothing to the Void. _Instead of speaking, Ashe simply nodded and turned, headed back to the chambers.

"Ashe," Tryndamere hissed at her, still following her. "You know Sejuani, better than any of us. She will never agree to this. We will die up there."

For the last time, Ashe turned around to face him. "And if we stay, we will die here," she answered firmly. Her blue eyes cut into his like daggers, and the King had to look away. She hated intimidating him, but he would not listen any other way. "I am the Queen, Tryn. What I say, goes. We will be leaving at dawn."

Ashe marched up the stairs and made her way to her chambers, leaving the champions and allies behind her. There, she removed her hood and cape, and sat on the stone bench across from her bed, alone, slumped over in exhaustion. Perhaps Sejuani would call her a coward for not facing the Voidborn head-on alone, and have her killed on the spot. Somehow that seemed like an entirely valid possibility.

"Incoming," Ryze's voice echoed.

Ashe rolled her eyes as the familiar purple bubble grew in the space between her and her bed. She waited until Ryze appeared before she looked up. The blue mage stood before her, simply staring down at her in confusion. Ashe waited a few long moments before finally speaking.

"What is it you want, Ryze?" Ashe snapped. Her head was pounding and her muscles ached; all she wanted was to sleep, and ignore the problems she had to address.

The mage simply continued staring down at her, his head cocked slightly, for a few seconds before speaking. "How long have you been with child, Ashe?"

Ashe froze. The air around her seemed to freeze, and unwillingly her mouth fell open. For once, the air felt too cold around her. Her irritated disposition slowly shifted to shock, like the slow process of water freezing. The two locked eyes, and in that moment, Ashe cursed herself.

"How did you know," she stated, less like a question and more like a defeated confirmation.

Ryze shrugged his bony shoulders. "I am quite adept at sensing presences. Does your husband know you carry his child yet?"

Ashe stayed frozen, weighing her choices. Finally, she shook her head, just a few inches to each side.

Ryze raised a hand and began stroking his beard once more. "In a few weeks you will begin showing your pregnancy," Ryze said in an analytical voice. "You will have to either tell him, or deal with it then."

Ashe looked down at the ground. The air suddenly felt thicker, hotter, and Ashe didn't like heat. She stood up and faced the nearest torch, blowing on it gently; a stream of frozen air encapsulated the fire, which extinguished immediately. She stood with her back to the mage for quite a long time. The tension and pressure mounted in the room between them, as palpable as if someone else were in the room with them.

"I can't keep the child," she finally said, her voice low. She turned her head slightly to face Ryze. "Not now. Not when we face so many threats."

"Thorn magic is quite powerful," Ryze said. "There are ways to dispose of the child before it's fully formed. Would you like my help?"

An icicle slid into her sternum, freezing her insides, as thin and sharp as a blade. She imagined a child, slowly suffocating by thick, dark thorns, crying and whimpering. A tear almost came to her eye.

She slowly shook her head. "No. Not yet."

Ryze nodded. "I understand. Who else knows?"

"Harra," she choked out. She turned her head back to the torch, trying to hide her tear from Ryze. She was Queen of the Freljord, not a whimpering maiden. And in her belly was the heir to the north.

"I suggest you keep it quiet," Ryze said in a low voice. The mage walked up quietly behind her, and rested a hand on her shoulder gently. Ashe could almost feel the purple tattoos pulsing against her skin. "Especially from Sejuani."

With that, the rogue mage left, sweeping out of the chambers quietly. Ashe stood there for what felt like an hour, staring at the extinguished torch, deep in thought. A warrior queen, bearing a child. The last thing she needed was another thing tying her down, keeping her from her duties.

But Tryndamere would never forgive her if they disposed of it. Beneath the war-torn exterior he was a man who wanted what any other man wanted, and a child was one of them.

But if Sejuani knew she were with child, she would be killed, along with her heir. The Winter's Claw only cherished power and strength. A pregnant woman, in their eyes, surely had neither.

The Queen of the Freljord steeled herself. There was nothing to do that night. Quietly, she took off her clothes, got into the bed, and waited for her husband to arrive.


End file.
